The Tale of Tomas Locke
by EngineerAndWriter
Summary: Elements of the 195th Narvos light infantry have been sent to the moon Deyria to protect an ancient xenos monastery which contains a strange device. When Eldar attack the garrison, Guardsman Tomas Locke finds himself isolated from his comrades due to a strange series of events. Now Locke along with a Howling Banshee must work together to survive in a cruel and uncaring galaxy.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello everyone, this is my first fic. I've been interested in the Warhammer 40K lore (although I'm not an expert, so be warned, I will get things wrong) for quite a while now and I've finally decided to make my own small contribution to it. As much as I love the combat and "grimdarkness" of Warhammer, I've always felt that too much time is spent with Space Marines and the people high up in society (Xeno and human alike) whereas the average Imperial guardsmen doesn't get much of a look in (then again, I might be wrong).**

 **EldarxHuman is quite interesting as a topic as it forces two people together from completely different backgrounds and cultures. I've seen a few good Adventure/romance fics but many of them never get completed as their authors didn't have an overarching plot and instead relied upon the interactions between the two protagonists. Unfortunately, this can only work for so long before the story becomes stagnant. This is a story inspired by the story 'Boots First' and as unfortunately that story will never be finished hopefully this will go some way to bring closure to those who loved it as much as I did.**

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 **Chapter 1 – Gone Dark**

Year: 745.M41

System: Eta Carina

Planet: Deyria (Day-rye-ah)

Function: Xenos Archaeological Site

Garrison: 2 Companies of the 195th Narvos Light Infantry

Colonel Demetris sat at a desk in his makeshift office, he looked up from the multitude of paperwork scattered around. A scarred veteran whose jet-black hair was starting to fade to grey. He scanned the smooth onyx walls that enclosed his office, with their strange swirling and digital like patterns. A dull white light emanated from them which Demetris, much to his notice, still hadn't gotten used to in spite of living on Deyria for almost year. Although he had to admit there was a strange sort of beauty to them. _Better not repeat that aloud when Commissar Virilus is nearby._ He reflected. The patterns covered every wall, in every room in the building.

When they had first arrived to garrison the Monastery, they had expected the ancient building to be a twisting labyrinth of corridors and rooms. It turned out that their expectations couldn't have been further from the truth. The entire layout of the Monastery was unbelievably simple. There was the flat plateau which led into a hallway which ran for quite some length before opening out into a small courtyard with a well at its' centre. Directly opposite the hallway on the far side of the courtyard was a small flight of steps which led to the atrium. The atrium was the area which housed the xenos Artefact and was strictly off limits to anyone but Demetris himself and Adept Doric.

Demetris mulled over their arrival to the Monastery, he hadn't failed to notice the prime location of the ancient structure while looking through the window of the Valkyrie drop ship. The Monastery was cut from the mountain itself while sitting atop a small steep hill. There was only one path up from the valley floor to the plateau as much of the hill was surrounded by cliffs and scree. The plateau was further enhanced with a new wooden palisade that Demetris had ordered to be constructed. It was built using the surrounding coniferous woodland. This had led to two benefits in Demetris's mind. Keep the troops busy and out of trouble but also the clearing of the forest below the Monastery created a perfect killing zone devoid of cover for any would-be attacker.

Demetris had set up his office in one of the few rooms joining to the hallway. The room afforded him some level of privacy, especially with the addition of a curtain covering the entrance where normally a door would have been. His office was connected to the main hallway close to the entrance to the courtyard. The men of his two companies however, did not have the same luxury. They simply set up sleeping and living areas in the main antechamber.

The Monastery had been found by ambitious explorers trying to find planets with rich ore deposits. It was completely by chance they stumbled upon the moon Deyria, which had for so long remained undiscovered, while scanning the gas giant of the same name. Upon discovering the moon, they sent down an exploration team. They found no ore deposits or anything of any value apart from an ancient and abandoned xenos monastery cut into the mountainside. They alerted the Logis Strategos of the Administratum of their discovery once it became clear that the planet was seemingly worthless. As ever though, the wheels of bureaucracy turn slowly. It was not for another 10 years after the explorers' report that any action was taken. The Administratum sent two Adept scholars to investigate. It was in the Monastery where they found an object of some import and immediately requested a garrison to protect their findings.

Demetris shook himself out of his day dreaming and looked back to the task at hand, the papers covered with lists and requests demanded his attention. He was tired, he hated dealing with the logistics of running the regiment. He had always delegated the task to his Quarter Master but unfortunately, he along with the majority of the regiment were off fighting the Orks on an Agri-World in a neighbouring system. He could have assigned the errand to one of his other officers, however many of them were busy with their own tasks. In the end he had decided that he should try his hand at book keeping and managing of supplies. _That was a mistake,_ he thought.

He gained a whole new appreciation for his Quarter Master, Quietus Len. A shy individual with glasses that were endlessly falling off his nose, considered an incredibly dull person by most of the regiment. Demetris however, would argue that he was probably the best Quarter Master and book keeper he'd ever seen. _If Quietus ever became Master of the Administratum, the Imperium would run like a well-oiled machine._ The thought of his bookish friend being a High Lord of Terra made him smile. He turned his attention back to the papers on his desk, a requisition order for new boots had floated its way up to the top of the pile.

His thought process was interrupted by Major Skult knocking on the wall outside of his office. "Come on in Major, take a seat." said Demetris wearily. Major Skult, pushed aside the curtain and closed it behind him. He snapped a smart salute and sat on the chair opposite the Colonel from the other side of the desk. Major Skult, a good officer although sometimes inflexible. Major Skult, like much of Narvos' inhabitants, was stereotypically tall. Standing at 6'4" with blonde hair and a handsome face. He was the poster child for the 195th.

"You wanted to see me sir?"

"That I did Major, that I did. I have quite a bit of housekeeping to do so I'll be brief. Radio contact has been lost with Outpost Landfall-"

"Again?" Interrupted Major Skult

"Yes again… "Demetris struggled to recover his train of thought. _maybe I'm getting too old for this_ … _Just two more years._ "In two hours' time I want 'B' Company to go to the outpost, find out what happened and re-establish radio contact."

"Sir, last time and it was simply a technical fault. Are you sure it's necessary to mobilise an entire company?" Argued Major Skult.

"True enough, most likely some idiot spilt his tea over the vox set. However, we should never assume anything especially with what we're guarding, war has taught me that much at least. The ill prepared and unwary are the first to fall." Demetris trailed off as he started reliving his memories in the guard, of countless battles, the deaths of friends and foe alike. He sighed, _By the Emperor, I am getting old. "_ Besides, you know as well as I do that that outpost is our only supply line off world."

The major nodded in acceptance of this fact, "still, surely a platoon would be enough? " enquired Skult.

"You have your orders Major." he said dismissively.

Major Skult visibly deflated at his words, "Yes sir." he nodded calmly. "What about scout riders?"

"Who went with 'A' Company last time?"

"That would be Guardsman Borr, Mcgaffe, Mordax, Chenauls, Ingran and Fiorenzi."

"We'll give them a break this time eh." Colonel Demetris flicked through his memory to find the twelve soldiers they had selected to act as scouts. That means Guardsman Haslinger, Faltz, Locke, Capaldo, Lueker and Kosters will be riding with you. Give them a bit more practise in the saddle eh."

"Very good Sir."

He stood up, saluted once more and just as we he was about to leave, he decided to ask another question of his Colonel. "Sir, can I ask you a question?" he asked sheepishly. Demetris merely grunted in response as he organized his paperwork. "The men are getting restless as are many of the officers, including me. Why are we here in the middle of nowhere, when the rest of our regiment is off fighting? I know that there's some sort of xenos artefact but surely this should be a matter for the Inquisition?"

Demetris didn't immediately respond. Deciding on whether he should disclose the information. In the end, he saw no harm in it. He looked up at the Major who was fidgeting like a small child, "Unfortunately the inquisition is currently unavailable. You know well that 'A' and 'B' Company were embroiled in heavy fighting on the Eastern Fringes. The top brass decided in their infinite wisdom, that we needed a cooling off period, so they sent us here to guard this place. For your question about the Artefact, unfortunately I'm not at a liberty to discuss such things. All you need to know is that artefact, if Adept Doric is to be believed, could potentially be extremely beneficial to the Imperium. Besides, whatever this thing actually does, the allure of a Xenos Artefact is sure to bring unwanted attention and we simply cannot allow any other race to get their grubby hands on it. That is why we are here Major" he punctuated the point by pointing his old calloused finger. "And that is why you will be taking a full Company to Outpost Landfall. Dismissed!" Demetris's tone indicated that the conversation was at an end. Major Skult saluted once more and left the Colonel to his busy work.

After morning roll call, the Monastery became a hive of activity. The large corridor was filled with the hustle and bustle of Imperial Guardsman going about their individual chores. Many were hunched over their portable stoves, waiting patiently for the water to boil to make a brew or heat up their breakfast MRE pack. Guardsman Tomas Locke was no exception, watching the water slowly boil from his own stove with hungry eyes. He was sitting at the end of his sleeping bag with his stove set up on the tiled floor. "Starin' at it ain't goin' to make it boil any faster you know!" Locke turned away from his stove to look at his friend, Guardsman Siemon Brandr. "Can't help myself, I'm absolutely starving" he replied.

"You're always starving" chimed in Corporal Kaylene Elis, not looking up from her book.

"The way you're looking at that ration pack; it's like you're waiting for a gourmet meal!" observed Lance Corporal Estrus Kern.

Locke patted his muscled stomach, "A boy needs to eat, it's what me mam always used to say." Smiled Locke innocently.

"Well your mam raised a right fat bastard!" quipped Guardsman Raevan Jaxx. The entire section broke out into laughter apart from Guardsman Austein Daud who simply smiled at his friends' banter.

"Now, I've been thinking-" started Brandr

"First time for everything" interrupted Locke sarcastically.

"Ha ha, very funny but seriously, in all the time we've been in the Guard, never once have I heard you complain about the food. Don't tell me you actually like it?"

Locke thought for a moment. "Oh no, it tastes like dirt half the time, but it still beats me old Da's cooking".

"Remind me to never go to your house for dinner" said Guardsman Juana Tapia. Laughter broke out once more.

A grinning Locke noticed his water boiling and was just about to retrieve his ration pack from the bubbling liquid when he heard Adept Doric calling his name. "By the Throne!" he cursed under his breath "Can it wait, I'm about to have my breakfast?" Locke already knew what the answer would be.

"No, come on it's important!" called Doric beckoning Locke to leave his meal behind. Locke grumbled as he got up and walked towards the Adept, who was waiting patiently near the edge of the assembled guardsman, as his squad mates jeered and chuckled at his irritation. "Don't worry Locke, we'll have your MRE, can't let it go to waste.". Brandr called after him. Locke turned around and raised two fingers at his comrade. This prompted more laughter.

"Good morning Adept." Locke said Tiredly.

"Oh, it very much is my friend, undoubtedly so." Said Doric excitedly. "Come with me, I need to show you something. It's absolutely fascinating." Locke smiled at his friend, his energy infectious.

"Lead the way." Doric was every inch the stereotypical academic. Long flowing scholarly robes on a slim and short build. His dusty brown hair, receding at the edges, was never properly combed giving him a crazed sort of look in complete contrast to his mild mannered bespectacled face. Locke walked alongside the enthusiastic Adept who babbled on about his research and his various theories. Locke simply let it wash over him as he walked down the long hallway.

When the guardsmen had first setup their living area in the hallway, they were awed by the alien symbols and patterns covering the shiny onyx coloured walls with the strange white light that emanated from them. Stranger still were the small alcoves dotted along the hallway at regular intervals. In the alcoves were ancient xenos bowls, of an unfamiliar material, that held large clusters of blue crystals that produced their own light.

Commissar Virilus had considered them xenos' sorcery and deemed that any who messed with the crystals was over-stepping the mark; leading to one public flogging. In the face of this though, curiosity proved too strong for many of the guardsmen, whom ended up chipping pieces off the crystals for souvenirs. Locke himself had taken a crystal shard which he'd turned into a necklace. What he found surprising was that shard still produced the ethereal blue light, although very much diminished.

Locke and Doric were now passing the men of 'B' Company, most didn't take much notice, but some watched them pass by with curious expressions. Locke had heard the hushed tones and whispers, as they walked past. A few rumours were circulating about him and Doric. His favourite rumour about himself, was that Doric was experimenting on him. The very idea made him laugh aloud which stopped Doric's prattle mid-sentence. He wore a confused look upon his face. "I didn't realise the origin of alien linguistics and hieroglyphics was so funny." The confused look on the Adepts face made Locke chuckle again. "Don't worry it's nothing, just something I was thinking about earlier."

They left the noise and lively atmosphere of the antechamber behind and walked into the courtyard. There were a few guardsmen milling about, evidently, they'd been chosen by their platoon leader to collect water this morning. The well was the only feature of the courtyard, a square hole in the ground surrounded by a low wall made of the same onyx coloured stone that the rest of the Monastery was built from. The pulley system, rope and bucket had been put in place by one of the sappers, as collecting water prior to this addition had been difficult.

They wandered past the well and up the stairs. Two guardsmen were guarding the double doors which led into the atrium. The guardsman on the left nodded at Doric with a simple "Adept". Doric opened the door and beckoned Locke in. The soldier on the right moved to block Locke's path.

"Guardsman, this is a restricted area. Only the Adept and the Colonel may pass."

"He's my assistant, let him in." said Doric firmly. The guardsman hesitated. Locke didn't blame him, he didn't look anything like an Adept's assistant. Standing at 6'6" he towered over the Adept. Not to mention he was wearing his full combat gear, minus his rebreather, webbing and lasrifle. Eventually though the sentry relented. "Alright lad, you can go in. Don't do anything stupid now." he ushered him through with a wave of his hand before closing the door behind him.

Despite the rumours circulating about him, Locke had never been in the Atrium before. He'd expected something grand but was woefully disappointed when it proved to just be an unadorned circular room. The walls still glowed with white light from the various patterns. There more of the same blue crystal clusters in alcoves along the edge of the room, perfectly illuminating the room.

Along the edge of the room were a few desks and tables covered with piles of paper and various pieces of equipment. There was a small room that joined onto the atrium, evidently Doric's sleeping quarters. At the centre of the room, on a low dais, stood a pedestal. Cradled on top of the pillar was a small cube covered by a grey piece of cloth, the Artefact. _Two companies of infantry to guard a rock smaller than my fist! Is this a joke?_ Glimpsing through one of the folds, he could tell it was the same shade as the walls.

Locke casually walked over to it, after staring at it for a few moments, he tentatively reached out to touch it. Just before his index finger made contact with the cloth covered cube his hand was swatted away as if he were a child trying to steal an apple from the market. "You fool you could have killed yourself!" yelled Doric, all enthusiasm and warmth disappearing in an instant. "Have you forgotten what I told you happened to my colleague? Well have you?" barked Doric

"Something to do with him bursting into flames before turning to ash." Said Locke skeptically.

Doric sighed while holding his hand to his face, "well… yes that is essentially what happened, albeit highly simplified."

"Uh... sorry". Said Locke as he nursed his hand. "It just looks like a little block of stone!" he said defensively.

"Looks can be deceiving. You told me yourself that your mother had a saying for such a thing?"

"Don't judge a book by it's cover" Said Locke matter-of-factly

"That's the one." Doric had quickly returned to his jovial state, after his outburst. "Sometimes it's the little things, the ones easily over looked, that in the end hold the true balance of power. Anyway, swiftly moving forward" Doric took Locke by the arm and practically dragged the tall soldier over to the table.

"I've started to decipher the various runes and hieroglyphics on the floor surrounding the dais. From what I've found so far, there is a sort of warning to any who might try to use it. Something to do with having a strong enough 'will' and being 'worthy'. Isn't that fascinating?" Before Locke could respond, Doric continued. "That's not all though, I've also uncovered what the Artefact is and how it works." Doric was talking faster and faster as his enthusiasm grew. Information that he had kept bottled up for months, waiting in anticipation for the day he could tell someone about his findings. Officially he was forbidden from speaking to anyone about the Artefact if they were not authorized to know.

This had left him with very few people he could talk to about his passion. It didn't help that Doric had never been a very social person to begin with, often finding himself ignored or openly shunned by most people. Preferring instead the comfort from books and his research. That was until the garrison, he and his fellow Adept had requested, arrived. On the first day the guardsmen had been present, during their lunch break, he had thought to eat with them, since he hadn't had human contact for 2 weeks.

Most of the Guardsmen simply ignored him or were outright hostile to his presence. It didn't take long before Doric was on the verge of giving up and thought of retreating to his private quarters. That was until Locke noticed Doric standing awkwardly behind him. Many people in Locke's situation would have told Doric to sling his hook but instead he invited him to eat with him and his comrades, much to Doric's surprise. Since then, Doric had counted Locke as one of his few friends. In the end he decided to break the rules and confided in Locke about his research.

"Please tell me, you remember what I told you about the Old Ones?" pleaded Doric

"Ancient space lizards." Replied Locke

Doric shook his head, "I swear on the God-Emperor himself, you say things like that just to annoy me." Locke smiled once again at his friend's forlorn expression.

"Right then, as a reminder. The Old Ones were an ancient space faring race that came about long before Humanity, the Eldar, the Orks or the Necrons. We don't know much of the details, but they became embroiled in a war that spanned the galaxy"

"So, they were in the same situation the Imperium is in now?" interrupted Locke.

"Yes, there are a few similarities. Anyway, to fight their war, they created several species such as the Orks and the Eldar. There are even some theories which suggest they created the Tyranids and even humanity." Noticing Locke's raised eyebrow,"pure speculation mind" added Doric.

Locke nodded signalling the Adept to continue.

"This raises some important questions. The main being, how did they control their creations? My theory is that it was done by using Artefacts like this one" Doric emphasised the point by pointing at the cube.

"You mean like... mind control?"

"No... no...well not exactly. I think it was deeper and far subtler than that. Potentially an extreme form of persuasion." Doric shrugged. "That's not all it can do though. I'm convinced that these things were able to open portals to places or even possibly different dimensions. The Artefact itself is some sort of repository but also an amplifier for warp energy."

"Is it safe to be around it?" Locke asked, now worried.

"Don't worry, it is safe. Provided you don't touch the damn thing. Although it does talk sometimes...strange that." Doric said that last bit as if he had gotten some mud on his best shoes.

"What, it talks to you?" cried Locke

"Yes. Have you not heard it?"

"No!"

"Hmmm that is odd, everyone else who has made eye contact with it started hearing the voices. Although the effect did wear off once they could no longer see it." Doric did his own version of the philosophers pose. "Very interesting." Doric trailed off obviously wondering what this could mean, stealing glances at Locke every now and then.

As Locke looked back towards the pedestal, he heard a bugle sounding across the Monastery. The call to muster. _Shit, what now?_ Locke set off at the run towards the plateau, leaving Doric alone in the atrium. Locke joined a small number of Guardsman from the courtyard who were all rushing to the plateau. As Locke ran through the hallway he quickly stopped to pick up his rebreather, webbing and lasrifle before rushing on once more out onto the plateau with the rest of the garrison. He fell in with the rest of his section as they formed up on the parade ground. Locke found himself next to Brandr. "Where ya been Locke?" whispered Brandr.

"Doric just wanted to talk to me about the usual." Replied Locke, in the same hushed tone. All the guardsman were stood in the 'At Ease' position. Once both companies had mustered, a silence settled over the Plateau. Locke watched as Sergeant Major Dobbs marched out in front of the company before doing a perfect 90 degree turn to face the assembled men. "Company! Company 'tention". There was a loud stamp of feet as the assembled soldiers stood to attention.

Major Skult then took over command from the Sergeant Major. "Well then lads" called the Major. "It looks like Outpost Landfall has gone dark on us. Most likely someone tripped over a wire and pulled out a plug." This drew out a few chuckles. "Or it could be an enemy force" his tone had become serious taking a slightly more serious tone. "You know as well as I do, that we are supplied through that Outpost. Without it, we're cut off. Colonel Demetris has decided that 'B' Company shall have the honour of re-establishing contact with the Outpost. Looks like we get to go for a nice jaunt around the woods. As for scouts, Guardsman Haslinger, Faltz, Locke, Capaldo, Lueker and Kosters will be travelling with us." _Am I ever going to get a chance to sit down with my brew?_ Thought Locke.

"Unlucky Locke" whispered Tapia. "If you're in 'A' Company and your name wasn't read out, congratulations you get to say here. 'A' Company! Fall Out!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello again, this is the second chapter of the story. If any of you have ever watched the film 'Centurion' (One of my favourite films set in the Roman period) you will likely recognise one of the scenes in this chapter. If you haven't seen the film, check it out because I love it.**

 **If any of you have any feedback: positive or negative, I'd really appreciate it. I really want to ensure the quality of this story in its entirety. If any of you are wondering, yes I am willing to rewrite chapters to make the story flow better.**

 **Sidenote: I'm back at university now and I'm doing a fairly intense course which means that my update schedule may slow down somewhat. Still, I hope you enjoy the chapter.**

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 **Chapter 2 – Over the Hills and Far Away**

Locke headed across the parade square to the ramshackle stables. Behind him, the guardsman of 'B' company were forming up into marching column. Hearing the crunch of boots behind him, he turned around. It was Elis and Brandr. "Here, I doubt you've eaten all morning" said Elis handing Locke a nutrient bar.

"Thanks, I'll have it on the ride" replied Locke placing the bar into pouch on his webbing.

"I thought ya might fancy a brew just 'fore ya set off." Smiled Brandr while placing a flask into Locke's hands. He shuddered after tasting his friend's tea, "Mate, I can't lie to you, that has got to be the shittest tea I've ever had." The look of disgust on Locke's face had Brandr in hysterics while Elis wore a broad smile. "Take care of yourself Locke, we'll see you this evening."

"Aye I will, see you later." With that he continued his small trip to the stables, leaving his companions to stare after him.

Ducking under the low doorway Locke walked to the stable door marked with a 7 in Roman numerals. A great chestnut stallion with a black mane was poking his head over the stable door. At the appearance of Locke, the horse started kicking the door with his forelegs, evidently excited to be leaving the confines of his stable behind. "Hello there Fury, me old lad". whispered Locke. He placed a few mints into the palm of his right hand before holding them up to the horse's nose. The horse hoovered up the treats in the blink of an eye. Locke stroked the horse's muzzle for a few moments, saying sweet nothings into the horse's ear and calmly entered the stallion's enclosure.

Grooming and tacking Fury turned out to be a pain as always. Locke had to weather the storm of being bitten and kicked. "Come on now, none of that." Rebuked Locke. After almost a year of riding the stallion, he had become proficient at dodging the majority of whatever his four-legged companion threw at him. Unfortunately, on this occasion Fury got lucky. A stray hoof caught Locke in the shoulder while he was picking out Fury's back hooves, sending him sprawling into the saw dust, narrowly avoiding a large pile of horse dung. The horse neighed loudly as if he found the whole thing highly amusing. "Behave you daft bastard!" Shouted Locke. He picked himself up and did his best to brush off the saw dust that now clung to his uniform. He put up with more of the horse's nonsense and eventually the bad-tempered horse relented allowing Locke to get him ready.

He led Fury out, via the large gate, onto the parade ground. He moved the horse near the entrance of the Monastery, not noticing the small crowd that had gathered to watch the preparation for the expedition. Placing his left foot in the stirrup and taking the reins into his left hand, Locke pushed up from his right leg and swung into the saddle. Fury responded by rearing up onto his hind legs; it took every ounce of Locke's strength to not be thrown from his seat. After a few tense moments of being thrust skyward, Fury came back down on to his forelegs. Locke was slightly shaken although pleased that he had overcome the challenge, knowing that he had denied his equine companion the chance to humiliate him.

A mocking applause echoed from the entrance of the Monastery, Locke turned to see his section laughing at him. Locke, naturally in high spirits, did an over emphasised bow in the saddle which Brandr, Kern, Daud and Jaxx retuned while Elis and Tapia imitated a curtsy. Laughing, Locke turned back to face his front while giving Fury a slight nudge with his feet. The war horse immediately set off at the walk while Locke guided him to the edge of the plateau, near to the gate house where the other scouts waited.

"Good morning lads" greeted Locke and "and lass" he hastily added after remembering Kosters.

"Mornin' to you too Locke" replied Haslinger. "I've been chosen by the Major as Lead Scout for today."

"Well done" commended Locke

"Thank you." Beamed Haslinger. "Now to business, I want this done by the book. Once the column has reached the valley floor, I want us to fan out along the line of march. Locke I want you out in front of the column. Koster and Faltz, I want you to scout along the norther edge of the column. Lueker and Capaldo I want you scouting the southern edge of the column. I'll ride with the Major's entourage first. We rotate clockwise every hour. Any Questions?" There was a collective shake of heads. "Fucking marvellous! Let's ride!"

The Guardsman of 'B' Company were waiting patiently in 'Column of March' in the centre of the parade ground. It took another half hour before all the scouts and all Major Skult's entourage were mounted. Major Skult and his officers rode to the front before signalling to Sergeant Major Dobbs to get the column moving. "Company! By the right! Quick March!" bellowed the Sergeant Major. The column of infantry burst into motion. "Left! Right! Left! Right! Left! Right! Left! Watch your spacing!" called the Sergeant Major once more.

After the initial lurch, the soldiers quickly got into an even rhythm once they listened to the timing from their superior. All the guardsman marching in perfect synchronisation, a truly remarkable sight, at least that's what Locke thought.

He and the rest of the scouts moved off in front of the column and passed through the open gate onto the narrow path. Locke had to fight Fury every step of the way. The allure of freedom was making the horse borderline uncontrollable. "you alright there Locke? asked Haslinger innocently

"I'm fine!" said Locke straining against the reins.

"Fury not giving you any trouble?" Locke could hear the amusement in the man's voice.

"Nah, he's a bloody angel!" quipped Locke through gritted teeth.

Locke kept the horse on a short rein but even that seemed to barely hold the fiery steed in check. The constant fight did make Locke consider how strange the whole situation was.

Here in the 41st Millennium, where humanity was capable of warp travel, had weapons that could annihilate entire planets and build colossal war machines towering high into the sky. Yet here he was riding a horse, something that humans had been doing since the ancient days of old Terra. He knew the reason of course, Colonel Demetris had requested transport vehicles from the Adeptus Mechanicus in Ultima Segmentum.

However, they were either unwilling or unable to provide the necessary scout and logistical vehicles. As a consolation prize, the garrison had been given horses. At first Colonel Demetris had been furious but quickly changed his mind once he'd landed on the moon. The thick forests and uneven ground would have been incredibly difficult for even the sturdiest of tracked vehicles, never mind the wheeled variants.

The garrison had been given twenty horses of varying quality and breed. As for their eventual riders, Guardsman who had any sort of experience at riding horses had been called upon to demonstrate their ability or lack thereof, in front of Colonel Demetris and his staff. The twelve best riders were then chosen, one of which was Locke. He knew it wasn't because he was particularly good at riding but because most of the soldiers in the two companies were so abysmal at it, it practically made him a fully-fledged Rough Rider by comparison.

When he and the rest of the scouts had made it to the base of the hill, they waited for the slow footsloggers to catch up. Trying to keep Fury standing was another headache for Locke. The horse was stamping his foot, while his nostrils flared seeing the sight of the open road stretched out before him. _Trust me to be given the angriest sodding horse in the whole bloody Galaxy!_ Locke patted the side of the horse's neck although he quickly pulled his had back as Fury bent his head back to bite it. "Steady now my lad, just be patient! You can run to your hearts content once the column gets here!" Soothed Locke. Fury snorted in response and stamped his foot once more to drive the point home.

He could feel the war horse's taught muscles wound up like a spring beneath him. Once the Head of the column finally reached the valley floor, the scouts in unison checked their chronometers before they moved off to assume their positions. "Alright Fury, now's your time!" cried Locke, Fury needed no other encouragement and was off like a high powered lasbolt. Locke watched from beneath his green visor as the world raced by in a blur, the infantile thrill of moving quickly across the ground was intoxicating. _Who says the Guard ain't any fun?_

There were many things he disliked about Fury, his temperament being the primary one, but he would never even think of using another mount. No other horse in the garrison could match the stallion's speed or grace. Locke whooped with shear delight, encouraging Fury to even greater speeds. For the most part he let Fury have a free rein, the war horse knew where they were going, at this point Locke was merely a passenger along for the ride.

Locke looked around him, they had cleared the killing zone and were now surrounded by the alien conifer trees. The trees stretched off into the distance in all directions with only the black peaks of the mountains breaking the monotony. Up above it was a clear sky with sunlight streaming down through the canopy to the forest floor below. Locke let the sunlight warm him; reminding him of an eccentric priest from his home village who would often describe the sunlight as the Emperor's divine gift to all faithful folk. The clear sky also gave a flawless view of the gas giant which the moon slowly orbited.

He noted that usually the gas giant was obscured by grey overcast clouds which was the norm on Deyria. The sweet aroma of pinecones and pine needles was everywhere around him as he rode along the road. It reminded him of when he would go for walks in the mixed forests near his home town on Narvos. _I'll go back someday._

By this point, Fury had moved back to a walk, after releasing his pent-up energy. Locke didn't mind the change of pace, as now it gave him a chance to admire the tranquillity of the scene around him. His thoughts only interrupted by the soft sound of horse shoes striking the ground and the slight breeze blowing through the trees. When a small stream came into view, he stopped and dismounted, considering it as good a place as any to have some respite. Besides, Locke reasoned that he'd ridden far further ahead of the column than he should have done. _Better let the footsloggers catch up_.

His chronometer showed that he had another twenty minutes to go before switching to his next position: riding with the Major's entourage. Locke grimaced, _oh joy, can't wait_. He sat down at the base of a tree, silently watching Fury drink his fill from the stream. The horse quickly moved on to eating the alien flora. Feeling peckish himself, Locke found the nutrient bar hiding in his webbing pouch and wolfed it down.

After he'd finished the rather tasteless brick that the Imperium called food, he started to flick through the sketchbook that his sister had given him. He always carried it on his person, in some ways it had become his lucky charm. Every page, in the well-worn book, was full of sketches, drawings and water colour paintings done by his sibling. No matter the countless times he looked through the sketchbook, he couldn't help but be amazed by his sister's skill. He cast his mind back to the day he bid farewell to his family.

* * *

 _The station was full of families and friends saying good bye to the enlisted men and women. Locke had been accompanied by his mother, father and sister to send him off. His father was the first to speak._

" _Now Tom, you know as well as I do, it's tradition for every Narvos guardsman to have a seax at his side. That's why I made you this." At that he handed Locke a bundle. When he unwrapped it, in his hands was a seax (a short stabbing sword of Germanic origin) inside a tight-fitting scabbard. "I was working the forge all night to put the finishing touches on it. What do you think?"_

 _Locke drew the small 16 inch blade from it's scabbard. "Dad, it's beautiful." It truly was. A simple yet comfortable handle combined with a straight blade which ended in a wickedly sharp point. Along the blade were the words 'The Emperors Mercy'._

 _Locke's sister was the next to come forward. "Before you go, I want you to have this" she said, pressing the sketchbook into his hands. Tears were in her eyes._

" _Your old sketchbook? Are you sure you want me to have this?" replied Locke._

" _Yeah I'm sure. Keep it as a reminder of home and to remind you what you're fighting for." She smiled_

" _Cora, I…" Locke stammered, tears swelling in his own eyes._

" _Just promise me you'll come home someday" implored Cora._

" _I... I promise, I'll come back." Said Locke enfolding her in an embrace._

 _His mother approached him last, she had no keepsake to offer him, not that Locke minded. Instead she imparted a small amount of wisdom. "Tom, I'll not lie to you, if you are lucky enough to survive your service, you won't be the same." The words hit hard, he wasn't expecting this. His idea of war was a grand adventure lined with glory and praise._

" _You'll be haunted by the horrors you face and the terrible things you'll do. Trust me I know. The only way you'll be able to live with yourself afterwards is by knowing that you did some good in a Galaxy filled with unending death and destruction. Taking a life is easy; saving one, now that's hard. That takes courage. I know you'll do the right thing, it's who you are." After her lecture a sad smile blessed her face. "We're so very proud of you Tom, you'll get through this. The Emperor protects." She finished her monologue and hugged her son fiercely, quickly joined by Locke's sister and father. Tears were streaming down all four of their faces._

" _All aboard!" shouted the liaison officer, interrupting the mood of the moment._

" _I've got to go" said Locke, pulling out of the encirclement by his family. "I'll write to you as often as I can." He said as he ran to the train. He boarded quickly with all the other recruits, in the desperate scramble to find an empty seat. He was lucky, there was a window seat unoccupied and he made a beeline for it. Once he picked out his family in the swelling crowd, Locke waved to them. Once the train was at full capacity, it started to pull out of the station, his sister and parents were lost to view._

* * *

He shook his head at the memory, _so long ago._ Locke checked his chronometer once more, only a few minutes to go. He whistled to Fury, who immediately stopped eating and raised his head towards him. Locke walked over to him, patted him on the neck and sprang into the saddle. "Good lad, it's our turn to ride with the column now. Lots of horses for you to talk to" said Locke softly. Fury set off at the trot back they way they came. It wasn't long before they reached the mass of marching infantry. Many of the guardsman were singing:

"Hark now the drums beat up again,

For all true soldier gentlemen,

Then let us 'list and march, I say,

Over the hills and far away."

"O're the hills and across the stars,

To Holy Terra, Luna and Mars,

The Emper'r commands and we'll obey,

Over the hills and far away."

"All gentlemen that have a mind,

To serve the Emperor that's good and kind,

Come list and enter into pay,

Then over the hills and far away."

"O're the hills and across the stars,

To Holy Terra, Luna and Mars,

The Emper'r commands and we'll obey,

Over the hills and far away."

Locke smiled at the song, it was one of the regiment's favourites. He started drumming his fingers in time with the song on the pommel of Fury's saddle. He moved to join the small detachment of horseman at the front of the column. At the sight of Locke, Haslinger moved off to take up his new position along the line of march. As Locke reined into join the entourage he saluted to the assembled officers. "Guardsman Locke reporting, permission to join the column sir?"

"Permission granted, anything to report guardsman?" said Skult nonchalantly

"Trees, trees and more trees sir" replied Locke.

"Better that than orks, orks and more orks" chuckled Captain Porras followed by the other officers.

They quickly lost interest in Locke as they started to talk about their experiences fighting the green skin hordes. Locke swiftly moved to the rear of the group and lost himself in his own thoughts once more. His thoughts turned to returning to the Monastery where his friends would be waiting for him when he finally returned in the evening.

He could imagine the scene, in their own little area of the Hallway, Brandr singing a song from his vast repertoire while Daud would play along with his reed fife. Elis would be reading her book, writing down notes for her own planned novel. Kern would be challenging guardsman from other sections to arm wrestling, 'Liars Dice' or poker. All the while Jaxx and Tapia would flirt with one another before vanishing into the night, only to reappear the next morning, noticeably more tired.

"Guardsman Locke was it?" said a voice. Locke snapped out of his thoughts and turned to the newcomer who rode by his side. Noticing the captain insignia on the man's shoulder.

"Y-yes sir, sorry I was lost in my own thoughts." Said Locke warily.

"I know that feeling." Grinned the newcomer "I'm Captain Marcos." He said extending his arm. Locke leant from his saddle to shake the man's hand. Locke reflected on the insular nature of the two companies. Despite being in the same regiment, the men largely kept to their own which led to great deal of mistrust around officers from different companies.

"So, tell me Mister Locke, where did you learn to ride? Not very common for an enlisted man." Said Marcos curiously.

Locke thought back to his youth, "I was an apprentice blacksmith but whenever my family was a bit light on the ground, I would work part time as a labourer at a local farm. It was back breaking work, up at 5am and I didn't go home till 10pm. At midday they would give us an hours break, which was bloody generous in comparison to how other landowners operate. Anyway, during that break, me and the other farm hands would try our hand at catching and riding these fell ponies that grazed in a nearby field. Over time, we got quite good at it. I felt so confident and being the fool I was, that I rode one of those ponies into the farm courtyard to try and impress the landowner's daughter." _Damn what was her name again?_

"Did it work?" asked Marcos

Locke smiled at the memory, "She was impressed…at first. It's the funniest thing, the horse at that exact moment decided he'd had enough; threw me off. Luckily for me I landed in the pond which broke my fall. I'm sure you can picture a wiry teenage boy pulling himself out of a large pond while a green frog sits on his head. Me mam was picking pond weed out of my underwear for weeks afterwards."

Marcos roared with laughter, throwing his head back. Many of the officers in front of them turned around, curious at the mirth of their colleague.

"After that incident she and the other farmhands would often croak like a frog whenever they saw me." Marcos chuckled again.

"I'm sure the experience was very character building." Said Marcos sarcastically.

"I certainly wasn't the same boy as the one who fell in." grinned Locke.

After a bit more small talk eventually the two fell silent, lost in their own thoughts once again. One thing that caught Locke's attention was the sudden appearance of mist spreading through the trees. Marcos had noticed it too, "strange, I would have thought the sunlight would have burned through any mist by now." Stated Marcos in a bemused tone.

Locke didn't respond as he felt an icy finger touch the back of his neck, only furthering his sense of dread. The marching guardsman echoed this sentiment as their singing quickly died to a stony silence, many of them glancing around at the mist which seemed to become thicker with every passing minute. Locke overheard a conversation Major Skult was having with his mounted radio operator, picking out various words. "Can't…Monastery…Vox network…no response…jammed!" Locke cursed his poor hearing, but thought he got the gist of the conversation.

Locke leaned over to the captain as they rode along, "Is your vox caster working sir?" asked Locke speculatively. Marcos tried to broadcast onto the network but all he got was static. "No, looks like we're on our own now." He said, clearly unnerved by the whole situation.

The column marched on, only an hour away from the outpost. The mist now limited visibility to about 80 metres. Everyone was on edge, even Major Skult whose own jovial persona had become strangely sombre. The sense of dread that permeated the air lead Locke to move to the front of the column, head on a constant swivel. By this point along the march, the road continued down a small V-shaped valley with the slopes rising steeply to either side.

Locke looked at his chronometer, a few more minutes before he would move off to his next scouting position along the line of march. Suddenly through the swirling fog he caught a glimpse of a large body lying on the road. As he approached, he recognised the form. A dead horse with a corpse of Guardsman Faltz draped over his flank. Both bodies were perforated with multiple wounds, the weapon used, Locke couldn't determine. Just behind the two corpses was a pile of felled trees, blocking the road. He yanked on the reins, turning Fury around and rode back to the column as if a daemon were on his heels. "Ambush!" He yelled.

A flurry of movement as the officers dismounted, screaming their own flurry of orders. "Dismount! Dismount! Cavalry to the rear! Get off the road!" shouted Sergeant Major Dobbs. "1st and 2nd Platoon! Defensive perimeter to the North! 3rd and 4th Platoon! Defensive perimeter to the South! Move, move, move!" shouted Major Skult.

The column of infantry immediately broke apart in frantic motion as they spread out along the edge of the tree line on either side of the road. NCOs shouting to individual soldiers, giving them their firing arcs and position. Locke pulled his lasgun from the holster mounted along the saddle as he dismounted. Taking the reins of Fury and many of the officers' horses: leading them to the rear and tying them to a tree. He saw a gap in the line and crouched next to a tree, joining the 1st Platoon facing north. "Quickly, get that sodding autocannon set up you useless bastards!" screamed a nearby sergeant at a panicking gun team.

Locke looked around at their position, they were sitting ducks. The ambushers had chosen their spot perfectly, the road was at the bottom of the small V-shaped valley, leaving them completely open. Even though there was cover in the form of the coniferous trees, the height difference nullified most of the cover provided, especially if they attacked from both sides. _It's going to be a slaughter_ , Locke shuddered at the thought.

He looked over at Major Skult, underneath the Major's peak cap was a face riddled with emotions of indecision. He could either hold a defensive position and remain cut off or attempt to fall back which would leave his company exposed. Locke didn't envy his position. He turned back to face the slope and the mists. _Don't think about that, you've got your own corner of the battlefield to worry about._ He loaded a charge pack into his lasgun with a reassuring click as the magazine snapped into position. Locke rested the lasrifle barrel against the tree trunk to steady his aim, viewing the slope through his sights.

Soon enough, everyone was in position including most of the officers. Only the Sergeant Major and Major Skult were still standing in plain view, walking up and down the line shouting encouragement. Locke could feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest; the anticipation of violence was causing him to breathe heavily, the sound muffled by his rebreather. _Calm down, you've done this before!_ Despite his own encouragement he couldn't relax, the adrenaline coursing through his veins causing his hands and by extension his lasgun to shake uncontrollably.

The worst part about a battle in Locke's mind was the wait that came before, the unbearable tension and the fear that could infuriate even the most battle-hardened veteran. A truly unpleasant combination. _Just start already!_ Once everyone was in position. Sergeant Major Dobbs called out "Company! Prepare to repel!", at that command, every man's right hand went to the bayonet sheath on their webbing, waiting for the last part of the command. "Fix bayonets!" In unison every guardsman carrying a lasgun slipped the 16-inch blade from it sheath and attached it into the barrel. Locke almost laughed at the reassurance he felt now that the wickedly sharp piece of steel was connected to his lasrifle. In a Galaxy filled with unending horrors and foes, a sharp piece of metal seemed to pale in comparison and yet it worked. Locke still felt the nerves affecting him but there was a new feeling as well, determination to win. _Come get some_. Skult was pacing behind the firing line, "Steady lads, steady! No matter what comes out of that mist, you will hold the line!" he shouted. "Your faith is your shield! The Emperor protects!"

Whoever had set the ambush decided to test those words as all hell broke loose. Blue crystal shards flying at unbelievable speeds flew out of the mist. Men began to drop left and right. Locke ducked back into the shelter of cover as one of the blue missiles hit the tree, sending splinters flying in all directions. A Guardsman manning the nearby autocannon took one of the splinters in the neck. "Stand to! Open fire!" Shouted Major Skult although most men weren't listening as they had already started opening up on their attackers.

Locke looked down the sights of his lasgun, but he couldn't pick out any attacker through the fog, he let fly anyway, sending red lasbolts into the vapour. The blue streaks continued to pour out of the mist from both sides while guardsman were shooting blindly into the haze in an effort to hit their hidden assailants. Locke looked to his left as a Lance Corporal rose above a fallen tree he was using for cover to take a shot before being flung back by one of the blue projectiles.

His screaming quickly joined the orchestra of battle: moaning, explosions and the constant rattle of gun fire. The Lance Corporal tried to drag himself to safety before another projectile slammed into his side. Locke watched where the shots were appearing from the mist, estimating where they came from. Switching his lasgun to 'fully automatic'. He sent a blistering number of red lasbolts back through the mist, the enemy's fire didn't dissipate.

A burst of shots aimed at him caused him to duck back behind the tree. He looked along the firing line, less than half the men were still fighting. Sergeant Major Dobbs was lying in a pool of his own blood. The smell of pine needles mixing with the metallic scent of blood was in danger of making Locke gag. Gritting his teeth, he prepared once more to send more shots towards his attackers, he was stopped by a hand on the shoulder. "Guardsman Locke, get on a fucking horse and get back to the Monastery! Tell Colonel Demetris we've been ambushed by Eldar forces and that an attack on the Monastery is likely to be imminent!" Shouted Skult over the crescendo of battle.

"Yes sir!" Locke shouted back, throwing a hasty salute.

"Covering fire!" shouted the Major. Every Guardsman who was still able, put as much fire up the slopes as they could muster. "Now! Go now Locke! Move!" Locke needed no extra encouragement, he ran back down the firing line, weaving in and out, of the fallen to make him a less inviting target. He was almost half way back to the tree he'd tied the horses to, when an ear-splitting shriek filled the air. Locke along with other guardsman fell to the ground gripping their ears in a desperate attempt to block out the vile sound.

To Locke it felt as if someone was burying a white-hot knife into his skull. He writhed on the floor, screaming for the sound to stop, his hands pressed into his ears. Around him, guardsman were picked off by the Xeno's sharpshooters. As quickly as the sound came it went. He shakily pushed himself back to his feet, swaying like a man four sheets to the wind. Locke felt something pouring down from both ears, he assumed it was most likely blood.

When he turned back to look up the slopes, his heart stopped. Terrifying warriors in bone white armour and skull-like helmets with flowing red manes, carrying shuriken pistols and power swords, emerged from the mist. They sprinted down towards the horrified Guardsman who were slow in recovering from the audible attack they had just endured.

The sight of the warriors made his blood run cold, the after effect of the terrible wail disappeared in an instant. The alien warriors charged down the slopes towards the hapless human soldiers, flowing over the battlefield with a speed and elegance that should have been impossible. The men started reforming the firing line too late as the Eldar warrior crashed into them from both sides.

One Guardsman tried to impale one of the alien warriors with his bayonet, but had it batted aside as if it were a toy. The Eldar then cut through the man's flak vest to open up his stomach with her power sword, without even breaking a stride she continued forwards, ducking underneath a lazy swing of Captain Marcos's chainsword. She smashed into his legs, sending him flying into the air head over heels. She decapitated him with a deadly backswing while the man was still in the air. The first soldier was on his knees as he cradled his intestines, letting out a scream of his own.

Locke ran on, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a soldier lose his lasgun and draw his seax. He tried to block a blow from a Xeno's power sword, unfortunately the sword passed straight through the steel blade as if it were butter and sliced into the man's shoulder. The slaughter was so one-sided, Locke had never seen such a superior foe that made veteran guardsman look like untrained militia.

Moving on, he a soldier lying on his back desperately trying to back away from one of the warriors who was closing in. The Eldar held the sword in her hands, ready to drive the sword into the man's heart. Locke raised his lasgun to his shoulder and pulled the trigger. Click. The charge pack was empty, Locke grunted with irritation. _Have to do this the old-fashioned way_ , he thought. Bellowing a feral war cry, he charged, bayonet lowered, angling it towards the warrior's back.

At the sound of his approach she turned around in a split second, reversing the position of her sword to swipe across with her power sword, Locke ducked underneath the swing before pushing off with his back leg to propel his bayonet into her side. The bayonet buried itself deep in her flesh. She groaned as Locke kicked her off the bloodied blade. The alien fell to the ground with another scream of pain but immediately started to rise once more. Noticing this Locke smashed the butt of his lasgun into the back of her helmet, dropping her in an instant. He didn't know if she was dead, but he didn't have time to stop, he gave a quick nod to the prone infantryman before continuing onwards. He ran in a crouch as shots continued to rain down from the slopes, albeit less concentrated than before. The light blue projectiles struck the ground around him, throwing up small puffs of dirt with their impact.

Running the gauntlet of gunfire, swirling melee and the fallen bodies was exhausting. By the time he reached the horses, who were in a state of utter panic, he was breathing heavily. The visor of his helmet had steamed up from the perspiration, making visibility even harder. Fury's eyes were rolled back revealing the whites of his eyes while the horse himself was pulling helplessly against the reins secured to the tree branch. At the sight of Locke, the horse started to calm but only slightly. Locke untied the reins of all the horses, who all ran off in various directions, and mounted Fury. "Come on lad, Like the wind!" The horse burst into a canter, wanting to escape the slaughter.

Locke looked behind him, it was a scene of total chaos: some guardsman had broken and were fleeing off into the trees, many though fought on. An ever-shrinking circle of Guardsman had formed near the treeline on the northern side of the road with Major Skult, who was unbelievably still alive, at its centre. The battle had become almost entirely melee oriented at this point, whenever a guardsman raised his weapon to shoot one of the xenos, a blue missile would strike them down.

Movement caught his attention as he saw a xeno take aim at him from the tree line with her shuriken pistol, he ducked low into the saddle. At the exact moment she fired, Fury stumbled slightly, causing both horse and rider to temporarily drop in height by at least a foot. The shots passed harmlessly overhead, but another salvo of shots quickly followed the first. Locke felt Fury shudder underneath him, he'd evidently been hit but Locke couldn't bring himself to look down to assess the damage in case he lost his seat. The horse didn't falter though and only seemed to accelerate to get away from the danger.

Within a few moments of hard riding, the battlefield was quickly lost to view; Locke said a silent prayer of thanks to the God-Emperor. He also asked his deity to look after the souls of the those who had fallen, they deserved that much. Quickly switching his attention back to the task at hand, he pushed his steed ever onward, he had a Monastery to warn.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello again chaps, a combination of factors slowed down the writing of this chapter. Firstly, I have been extremely busy with Uni work. Secondly, the chapter itself was one that I really had to grapple with. I just kept finding myself unhappy with it, fortunately now, I think I've managed to get it into a nice spot. Not much action in this one, as I needed to set up the Eldar perspective. Don't worry though the next chapter will really start to get the ball rolling…Hopefully!**

* * *

 **Chapter 3 – An Aspect For Every Future**

Aristriel watched as the mon'keigh mounted on his injured beast of burden rode out of sight. He'd been lucky, if his mount hadn't tripped, her shuriken would have taken his head off. She scowled in vexation underneath her mask at the enemy's lucky escape. Farseer Ullaryne had given strict orders that none of the mon'keigh must escape to warn the rest of their comrades at the temple.

She had first picked out the soldier after he'd managed to drop one of her fellow banshees, from then on, she had hunted him across the battlefield. The whole thing had been a source of endless frustration, every time she seemed to get close enough to strike him down, another mon'keigh would move to block her path, slowing her down. Her last chance had been to kill him in the saddle but alas it was not to be.

Surveying the wooded expanse around her, it was obvious that the battle was coming to a close; the corpses of Imperial Guardsman littered the ground. Any of their wounded were being quickly dispatched by prowling rangers, their mulling cries abruptly silenced.

Sighing at her failure, she walked back through the woods to where the Farseer overlooked the battlefield. The mist, summoned by the master sorcerer, was beginning to dissipate now, it's purpose having been fulfilled.

The Farseer, wearing a dark blue robe with her pale-yellow winged helm, was standing alongside Autarch Bararos equally well adorned in dark blue armour with great wings of blue and yellow feathers sprouting from his back, his face hidden by a pale-yellow war mask.

Aristriel approached them, "My Lord and Lady, I bring poor tidings indeed, a mon'keigh was able to escape, much to my shame." She said apologetically.

The Autarch and Farseer stood as still as statues in absolute silence, the only movement being that of the wind, catching at the feathers of the Autarch's wings and the Farseer's robes. both looking down the slope at the aftermath of the carnage. Aristriel knew they were most likely speaking telepathically to one another, after a few moments the Autarch spoke. "Hmmm, this changes things." He said thoughtfully. His voice confident and haughty; used to the burden of command. "It is as you foresaw my Lady." He said addressing the Farseer.

More silence followed, Aristriel was about to beg her leave when she heard footsteps behind her. Turning around she was confronted with a dozen of her fellow sisters of the Howling Banshee Aspect shrine; in their midst was a dishevelled and battered mon'keigh.

Another oddity that Aristriel had noticed was that all the mon'keigh she had fought in the ambush had been almost as tall if not the same height as her and her fellow Eldar. From what she had read, unaugmented humans should have been far shorter. _How bizarre._

As the group halted the prisoner was shoved onto his knees, his tattered clothes bearing the various symbols of authority.

Exarch Teltera moved past Aristriel to speak to the Farseer and Autarch who only now had turned to see what all the commotion was about. "My Lord and Lady, we have captured the mon'keigh commander, as you instructed" she said confidently while offering a low bow. "Very good, Exarch you have performed admirably once again, as have your sisters." He said, turning his attention to the kneeling captive. He quickly fell into silence once more whether he was in quiet contemplation or he was communicating with the Farseer again, Aristriel couldn't tell.

As for the prisoner, Aristriel took in his details. She had never properly inspected a mon'keigh before. What shocked her was that underneath the layer of blood and dirt was a handsome face with bright blue eyes and blond hair. Not exactly the ugly violent barbarians she'd always envisioned.

The silence was broken by the Autarch who spoke in the savage's harsh guttural tongue. Aristriel flinched at the strange language as if it were a physical blow, grating against her ears. She could tell by the Autarch's manner that he was just as revolted for having to use such a lower form of communication. The human remained silent, undisguised hatred and disgust plastered on his face. Bararos tried once more but his only answer was more silence. He turned to the Farseer, giving a slight nod, before taking a pace backwards.

Ullaryne stepped forward to stand in front of the kneeling human, the savage barely even registered his new interrogator, his eyes closed as his mouth moved in whispered prayer. Ullaryne spoke to the human, a clear edge to her noble voice. Even though Aristriel didn't understand the language, she understood enough by the tone of her words. Ullaryne was giving him one last chance to answer their questions. This time in way of response, the stubborn brute spat a glob of spit and blood; the liquid projectile hitting the Farseer on her left shin.

Aristriel and the small group held their breath, the insolence of this creature was beyond mere words. The air suddenly became incredibly cold, even the light from the sun seemed to dim. The red lenses of the Farseer's winged helm shone brightly as white lightning appeared to dance across her forearms. The mon'keigh's eyes grew wide with fear at the sight of the enraged sorcerer. Ullaryne held her arms towards the human, who was desperately trying to wriggle out of his bonds. White lighting shot from her hands and struck the human instantly, his face a rictus of pain as his mouth opened in a silent scream. His eyes moving rapidly in random directions as his brain tried to comprehend its own suffering. Despite Aristriel's hatred for the lesser races, even she felt a sliver of pity for the savage.

For almost thirty seconds, the human was made to endure the agony, after which the Farseer relented. Even after she stopped, white lightning continued to sporadically dance across the man's torso; causing the man to spasm whenever it did so. The question was put to him once more and to Aristriel's disbelief he still refused to answer. _Bravery or idiocy? It's a mon'keigh…so the latter._ The lighting sprang forth once more from the Farseer's hands; on and on the cycle went but eventually the mon'keigh's resolve broke. Tears streaked down his face in defeat as he finally answered the Farseer, his entire body sagging, utterly crestfallen.

The Autarch nodded to the Farseer that he was satisfied with the human's response. "Exarch Teltera, kill him!" ordered Bararos, reverting to Aelderi.

"It shall be done my Lord" replied the Banshee in an obedient tone. The approach of the Banshee with a drawn power sword made the human give a sickly grin, he shouted a challenge towards the retreating Autarch; walking away with the Farseer in tow. The human's defiance had quickly returned, Aristriel noted, much to her own annoyance. _His impertinence has lasted long enough._ She thought.

Bararos called back over his shoulder, "Exarch, the mon'keigh has requested to die like a true warrior. That decision I shall leave to you." He continued to walk away. The Exarch stared at the human through the lenses of her Banshee mask, considering his plea. Aristriel's own thoughts were interrupted by the Farseer's voice, _"Aspect I have need to speak with you, time is of the essence!"_

" _Yes, my Lady."_ Thought Aristriel.

Aristriel made to follow the two leaders but the mon'keigh's arrogant manner stopped her, without thinking she called out to the Exarch, "Exarch Teltera, I request the honour to duel the savage!"

The banshee switched between the human and her subordinate with a quick turn of the head. "If that is your wish Aristriel, although I wouldn't call it much of an honour." She looked down at the kneeling mon'keigh, "An infant would put up more of a challenge" her voice dripping with derision. The human returned her glare with one of his own.

Word spread quickly among the Eldar forces that a duel would take place. Within a few minutes a circle had formed, made up of Banshees, Rangers and Dire Avengers. Aristriel found herself inside the circle staring at her opponent. The human had been released from his bonds, but was still kneeling, his mouth moving silently. Evidently, saying the last writes to his corpse Emperor. Once he had finished, he stood slowly.

Aristriel was no expert on human anatomy but even she could see he was exhausted, his body even more sluggish and ungainly than usual for those of his kind. She surmised that his injuries were only amplifying the effect. Despite this though, his face remained impassive, hiding his thoughts and his pain. She begrudgingly respected that, to embrace one's own demise with a straight face was no easy feat.

A Banshee threw a power sword into the ring which landed at the man's feet, kicking up dirt and pine needles as it landed. His face split into revulsion at the idea of handling an alien blade and refused to pick it up. Instead he reached behind his back to draw his own short sword that every one of the tall human soldiers carried. _A symbol of honour or some sort of subculture perhaps_? She sheathed her own sword and drew her wraith bone dagger in an honourable gesture; the human recognising the gesture gave a curt nod.

Both parties began to circle, sizing one another up. Aristriel could hear the sound of her own elevated heartbeat echoing inside her helmet. The tension of promised violence, causing knots to form in her stomach. The familiar feeling, one she had experienced countless times. The crowd around them was silent, watching intently from behind their helmets, masks, or hoods.

Without warning the human burst into motion rushing towards her in a head long charge roaring his war cry. He swiped across with his blade in wide arc, aimed towards her neck. She ducked beneath the blow and lunged towards the man's chest. For an injured man he moved quickly, sidestepping her lunge he replied with his own. Aristriel dodged the attack with a small back step. Expertly passing her dagger from her right hand to left, she grabbed the man's sword arm: locking it with her own, trapping him with her at his back. In a blur of movement, she reached over the man with her left hand, the dagger gleaming in the sunlight before she rammed the blade into the brute's rip cage: passing straight through his pitiful excuse for armour.

He shuddered at the impact, a stream of blood flowing out of his chest as Aristriel retracted the dagger. He tried to recover, but his strength failed him, dropping his blade, he fell on to his back. His breath ragged while his lifeblood drained from his body. _Must have punctured a lung._ His right hand feebly dragging around in the pine needles, desperately trying to grab the handle of his short sword.

At first Aristriel thought that he was trying to continue the bout, but she quickly realised that he merely wanted to die with a sword in his hand. She hesitated but after how he'd been tortured and been forced to watch those under his command perish, Aristriel believed he had earned this small comfort. Picking up the sword, she placed it into his palm. His fingers immediately curled around it. She was wary that he might try a last parting shot but instead he grasped the hilt and locked eyes with the red lenses of her mask. His blue eyes full of thanks before glazing over in death.

The whole fight had lasted less than a minute, using the unsoiled parts of the man's khaki coloured shirt, Aristriel cleaned the blood from her dagger. Once she was satisfied that the blade was clean, she stood up and slipped the weapon back into its sheath on her forearm. The crowd that had gathered to watch, were already dispersing to go about their own tasks. Aristriel headed towards the Autarch and the Farseer who were now standing on the road. Not wanting to keep them waiting, she moved down the slope to join them.

Bararos turned mid-sentence at the sight of Aristriel, "Ah, is this your Aspect, Lady Ullaryne?"

"She's the one." She said calmly. "Thank you for coming my dear, we have a task for you. Thanks to your warning we now know that our plan must change accordingly."

Aristriel unsure as to how to respond was saved the need for response as the Autarch unexpectedly asked her a question first. "Aspect, you were a ranger were you not, before you joined the Howling Banshees?" asked Bararos.

"I was my Lord." Replied Aristriel, hints of uncertainty creeping into her voice.

"Very good, then you will have no trouble navigating the wilds of this place. Now, I'm sure Farseer Ullaryne can properly brief you for your mission. I must bid you farewell, warriors won't marshal themselves." He snorted at his small jest before turning on his heels and marching away, calling out orders to various groups of assembled warriors.

"You must excuse him my dear, he has always been restless, never capable of staying in one place for long."

"An Aspect warrior through and through." Replied Aristriel wistfully. The Farseer removed her winged helm, revealing a beautiful face with dark purple eyes and raven black hair. She smiled at Aristriel, "A very apt description" she chortled.

"My Lady, what is it that you have planned for me?" Aristriel asked curiously.

"Ah yes that, our original plan was to destroy the garrison using the element of surprise to secure the Artefact, unfortunately that is no longer possible. So, this is where you come in. Just South West of here lies a river that flows from the Black Craggs. Part of the river runs underground, flowing right underneath the Old One's Temple. The human garrison are using it as a well inside the temple to keep themselves hydrated and I'm sure you can work out where the water comes from. "

"The underground river." The Farseer nodded. "You want me to infiltrate the Temple, using the well. Won't the area be crawling with mon'keigh, how am I supposed to get past them?"

"Very perceptive of you" beamed the Farseer. "Bararos will feign an assault on the Temple, which will draw the mon'keigh away from the Omnicron giving you the chance to take it, right from underneath their very noses."

"Understood Farseer."

"As for the Omnicron, do not attempt to pick it up with your bare hands. There are very few capable of doing so. Instead use this, be careful mind, it's very fragile and I doubt I'll be able to make another one anytime soon" she said, handing over a small wraith glass capsule. Upon closer inspections, Aristriel noticed a strange blue aura slowly orbit the fist-sized box.

"Thank you for this honour my Lady, I shall not fail you!" said Aristriel in awe, carefully placing the gift inside a pouch on her side.

"I'm sure you will not. One last thing Aspect. I noticed you eagerly volunteered to duel that mon'keigh commander. Why did you do it?" She enquired, her eyes studying Aristriel, keen to gain an insight into the young Eldar's actions. Even underneath her mask Aristriel could feel the intense scrutiny of the Farseer's gaze as if it were a pressure weighing down upon her.

"I lost my family when the Imperium attacked our home, I wasn't there to help them as I was on the far side of the galaxy. As soon as word got to me, I moved as quickly as possible to return to defend Alaitoc." Aristriel fought fiercely to keep her emotions under control at the resurfacing of those bitter memories. "Regrettably, by the time I arrived, the mon'keigh had fled and my kin… they lay slain."

"You duelled him as an act of vengeance?" She asked, her voice full of concern.

"No, as a way of proving to myself that the pain these beasts inflicted on me that day has only strengthened my resolve." Aristriel could feel the anger rising within her but she pushed it back down.

The Farseer gave a sad smile at her response, "Our people have been forced to endure much, your story is but one of many. You have suffered greatly at the hands of these revolting barbarians and I can understand your feelings. However, never allow your emotions to cloud your own judgement or to push you towards action that would be considered reckless."

Aristriel nodded along, taking in the Farseer's words. "Your sage advice is always welcome Farseer Ullaryne. If it is not too much to ask, may I ask something of you my Lady?"

"Of course, my dear. What is it?"

"Why choose me for this task? There are many warriors who are considerably more experienced and skilled than I. Are they not better suited?" The Farseer bristled at this, raising an eyebrow.

"It is true, you are not the best swordsman or the best marksman, nor are you the stealthiest of our warriors." The Farseer paused, reorganising her thoughts.

"The reason you have been chosen is because in all other futures where other warriors have been selected, leads to failure. You on the other hand, are the only one that has the possibility of success in our endeavour, although that future is…unorthodox." The way the Farseer's eyes seemed to glint at the words 'unorthodox' made Aristriel pensive. _Unorthodox? By Asuryan, what does she mean by that?_ Aristriel decided it was best not to pry, she had her orders now, she would carry them out.

"By your leave my Lady, I must journey onward."

"May Isha's light guide you Aspect." Smiled the Farseer. Her smile genuine and full of warmth.

Aristriel bowed once more and left the Farseer to her own machinations. She took off at the jog, heading South West, through the trees and the undergrowth. The world passing by her in a blur. She had her mission and by Khaine's blood, she would not fail.

* * *

 **Review responses:**

 **Deadmanforever90 – Wow, that's high praise indeed, thank you. You have no idea how many times I've written and rewritten chapters. Setting the scene, making sure the story flows is one of the biggest challenges.**

 **Hathagat – Ha-ha, love it! I'm quite interested in Medieval/Dark Ages history, so I thought I'd link Narvos with a sort of Saxon/English culture.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello again chaps, this is the fourth chapter (as I'm sure you've already determined). Unfortunately, this one is a bit slow not too much action: it's more setting the scene for the next chapter. Originally, I intended to have this chapter include setting of the scene, the battle and then the aftermath however once I started to near 6000 words I realised that this probably wasn't going to happen.**

 **This little quandary got me thinking and I've concluded that chapters should have a max word limit of 7000 words as anything more than that becomes a grind for the reader. Also, from now on, updates will only be on a Monday because that's the easiest day for me. If it's a Monday and I don't upload; you're going to have wait for the next one. As always positive and negative feedback is welcome and I hope you enjoy the chapter.**

* * *

 **Chapter 4 – Calm before the storm**

Locke could feel the perspiration on his forehead; a few errant droplets stinging his eyes under his visor. His chest rising and falling quickly from is exertion, he hadn't slowed Fury down until he could see the Monastery: it's rocky spire towering above the canopy. As the adrenaline from the ambush started to wear off, Locke found himself wincing from a sharp pain across his chest. Obviously, he hadn't gotten away as scot-free as he'd first thought, the searing pain causing him to slouch forward. Only keeping his seat through shear will power. _Almost there_. His mount was even worse, Fury's flanks were covered with sweat, while he whinnied in agony. Locke also noticed that the horse was leaning more heavily on one side, clearly his injury was affecting his movement. They had been riding for hours now, retracing the columns advance back towards the Monastery.

The knuckles on his hands were white from tightly gripping the reins, the leather digging into his skin, causing small rivulets of blood to run down his wrist. luckily hours of hard riding had left his hands numb which afforded Locke some comfort. Despite his poor posture in the saddle, his head was on a constant swivel. He was only half an hour away from home but he wasn't taking any chances: his deep-rooted sense of unease still permeating his thoughts.

Out of the corner of Locke's eye he caught a shift of a shadow; snapping of a twig. He pulled on the reins, causing Fury neigh in indignation as he ground to a halt. Without even thinking he brought the lasrifle from it's saddle holster to his shoulder. The quick motion, sending a lance of pain from his chest. Gritting his teeth, he aimed down the sights towards the disturbance. _Emperor preserve me._ Instead of a deadly Eldar warrior screaming for his blood, a strange yellow and brown deer type of creature that was native to the moon stepped out of the shadows. Locke immediately relaxed, _cheeky git, almost shit myself._ The quiet of the wood was broken by Locke's self-depreciating laughter; the sound of the human's jollity causing the deer creature to prick it's ears forward before it bound off back into the safety of the forest.

The tension having been broken, Locke kicked Fury into a trot as gently as he could. The horse grunting loudly in discomfort, "sorry lad, we'll be back soon. When we're back, I can get ya fixed up." Said Locke soothingly into the horse's ears. Eventually the road left behind the forest, Locke rode into the cleared killing zone, the plateau rising above him. At that moment, Fury tripped over a hidden rocky outcrop.

This time though, he did not recover. Fury went down in a flurry of hooves sending Locke flying over the horse's head. Locke landed hard, dust from the road kicked up by his sudden fall. Once more pain shot up from his chest; now including his left arm in the symphony of pain that filled his body. Panic gripped him, he thoroughly tested the limb but exhaled a sigh of relief when he found it wasn't broken. _Only sprained, could be worse._ A loud high-pitched neigh, sounding more like a feral shriek of pain, ripped him from his thoughts. His face fell into one of complete despair once he caught sight of his mount.

"Oh, by the Throne! No no no!" screamed Locke, rushing back towards his fallen companion. The horse was desperately trying to rise back onto his feet but each time, he fell back to the ground. The constant cycle of rising and falling causing his right side to become a bloody ruin. By the time Locke reached the prone beast, Fury had given up trying. He was lying on his side, his breath ragged, the horse's eyes rolling back to reveal the whites. "For the love of the God-Emperor, get up! Get up Fury! Come on! Please!" shouted Locke, his voice cracking, his eyes were starting to water. Fury ever faithful to his master, tried once more to rise and for a second it looked as if he would recover but much to Locke's dismay, the warhorse's strength failed him.

The horse was lying on his right side, mulling pathetically at his rider. Locke dropped to his knees, tears flowing freely now. Locke removed his rebreather and his helmet due to the atmosphere inside his mask becoming unbearable. The feeling of the cool air against his damp face bringing with it a sense of clarity that cut through the pain and his tumultuous emotions.

He comforted the beast as best he could by placing his hands on the horse's neck, stroking him in a soothing fashion. Much to his relief, the horse seemed to calm. The horse neighed once more while his eyes fell upon Locke: begging him to not leave. Locke looked into the horse's eyes, seeing a small reflection of himself. Those beautiful dark eyes brimming with fear, how many times had Locke looked into the eyes of fellow Guardsman and seen the same thing? _Too many!_ Locke shushed him quietly, "steady now m'lad", Locke exhaled heavily, his tears dropping onto the dry soil of the moon. _I know what I have to do._ "Best damned horse, I've ever had." He whimpered, wiping at his runny nose with his sleeve. "You carried me through fire and death to get me home; you deserved better!" Getting up, he wiped a khaki coloured sleeve across his face: doing his best to remove the tears or sweat stuck to it. He pulled out his lasgun once more from the saddle holster.

He stroked the horses muzzle for the last time, planting a small kiss on his forehead. He stepped back, aiming his lasrifle at the horse's head. His sobs causing the lasrifle barrel to shake slightly. _Breathe… 1,2,3,4 and exhale, got to make this clean._ The self-reassurance steadying his aim, "Goodbye Fury, you have done your duty to the Imperium!" he stuttered, the water works starting up once more. His finger slowly drawing back the trigger, just before the lasrifle burst into life, Locke closed his eyes. He heard the loud high-pitched whine of the lasbolt, the sound of it striking unarmoured flesh followed by the sound of Fury's body slumping against the road.

 _Farewell old friend._ Turning away from his dead mount, he took a few moments to collect himself. Wiping away more tears before putting his helmet back on along with his rebreather. He slung his lasrifle onto his shoulder, setting off at a quick walk towards the plateau. Only now did he realise the number of heads that had appeared: poking above the wooden wall at the top of the hill. He felt their eyes watching him as he miserably walked across the killing ground, to the narrow mountain path.

After the gruelling hike upwards, he finally crested the rise. His legs as heavy as lead while his muscles burned like molten iron. When he finally reached the gate, he was faced with multiple lasguns aimed directly at him. A voice called out from the top, "Not one more step, identify yourself!" Locke halted obediently, his heavy breathing causing his visor to mist up. _Survive and escape, against all odds, an Eldar ambush just to get gunned down by my own regiment. Typical fucking life of a Guardsman._

"Go to hell" Locke sneered, "just open the fucking gate! I've got to speak to Colonel Demetris!" he shouted back, gasping for air after his slow toil. "Give us a name!" shouted back the unseen soldier.

"Tomas Locke!"

"Locke! By the Throne! Weren't expecting you back for some time." Locke heard a series of orders shouted at the sentries guarding the gate.

The soldiers above the gate house were visibly more relaxed now, their lasrifles being slung behind their backs once more. The gate swung open, seeing his path unimpeded, Locke continued on: cradling his sprained arm as he went. As he passed underneath the gate, two Guardsman joined him at either shoulder. He was quickly escorted across the parade ground and through the hallway, all the while getting curious glances from other soldiers going about their own business. Locke moved as hurriedly as his tired body could manage: grimacing at his various injuries. Locke quickly found himself outside the Colonel's office: the door way flanked by two more soldiers. The two soldiers who had escorted him departed, leaving him facing the entrance to the Colonel's office.

He knocked loudly on the wall next to the doorway, "come in" said a gruff confident voice with a slight hint of irritation. Locke opened the curtain, making sure to close it behind him. He snapped a salute to his superior who was hunched over reading a data slate on his desk: not even bothering to register Locke's salute. Locke removed his helmet and rebreather, revealing his visage to his superior.

"Sir, I've an-"

"Now then, Mister Locke" said the Colonel cutting him off, "Did Major Skult really deem it necessary to send a rider back to me? What news do you bring?"

"Yes sir, about that." Said Locke taking a deep breath: composing his thoughts, "we were attacked!"

The Colonel looked up immediately, eyes fixing on Locke. "What! By who? Speak, damn your eyes!" Shouted Demetris, insistence creeping into his voice

"It was Eldar sir." Responded Locke, withering slightly underneath the Colonel's stare.

"Eldar! Emperor Preserve us! Tell me everything!" any semblance of tired irritation from Demetris's voice had completely disappeared; now replaced by energetic urgency.

Locke went on to tell the story about how 'B' Company had marched off to face its grisly end: the strange mist that had preceded the ambush, the jammed communications, the attack itself and how it was conducted and lastly the final orders he had received from Major Skult. The Colonel listened intently to the Guardsman's tale, only ever interrupting for clarification.

When Locke mentioned the auditory attack by the terrifying Eldar warriors in bone white armour with red manes, Demetris clicked his tongue. "Ah, the Howling Banshees have revealed their hand, I've faced them a few times before, a frightening opponent. You were lucky to get away."

Locke acknowledged this with a small nod and continued to finish the rest of the story, careful not to miss any of the details. Once he had finished, Demetris leaned back into his chair, his eyes staring at the wall.

"How ironic, if only I'd listened to the Major. If I had, I'd have only sent a platoon to check up on the Outpost. The Eldar ambush would have only wiped out a platoon instead of an entire company." He said, sighing heavily.

"Me mam used to say that 'there's a silver lining to everything sir'. If a platoon had been sent, I highly doubt word would ever have gotten back to the Monastery. The first thing we would have known about the Xenos would have been them slitting our throats in our sleep." Reassured Locke.

"Maybe you're right, a potential blessing in disguise. Still, an entire company of veteran Guardsman, wiped out in the space of half an hour. Half our garrison…gone." The Colonel's voice trailed off while his face took on a sombre look, Locke continued to watch his superior in silence, not really knowing how to respond. "Tell me Guardsman, did you think anyone from 'B' Company, besides you, made it out?"

"I doubt it sir" said Locke morosely, shaking his head. "I saw some of the men flee but if I was to guess, I'd say over three quarters of the company are dead. The rest broken and scattered, it'll take them time to regroup and return to the Monastery." _If they ever do_. Thought Locke.

"I suppose we should also assume that the platoon from 'B' Company that was manning the Outpost has also been removed from the board?"

"I would say so sir. Major Skult warned me that an assault on the Monastery is likely to be imminent. Bearing that in mind, all you'll be able to rely on is the men and women of 'A' Company."

"Hmmmm, how many Eldar are we facing do you think?"

"I'm not sure sir, it was hard to tell, a few companies at least." The Colonel's expression darkened at his words.

"Outnumbered and outmatched" he said quietly more to himself than to Locke as he leaned his head on to his interlocked hands. Locke had never seen his commander like this, even in the direst of situations the old soldier was always steadfast with a bit of good humour. Locke had always considered him a force of nature but here, it looked like he was close to despair.

Unexpectedly, much to Locke's surprise, as quickly as Demetris's nihilistic attitude appeared, it vanished. The Colonel sat up right, a small smile growing on his face. "Oh well, If we live through this, we deserve a song or two written about us eh? He said chuckling.

"At any rate, if these pointy-eared freaks want a fight, we'll damn well give them one to remember!" he said coldly, his voice carrying more steel than a Blacksmith's forge. Locke felt his spirits rise at Colonel Demetris's words. _I almost feel sorry for the poor Xenos._

"Last thing Mister Locke, how long do we have to prepare our defences?"

Locke arched an eyebrow in thought before concluding, "If we're lucky, they'll get here by tomorrow and if we're unlucky, they'll be here by this evening." The Colonel mulled this over for a time before agreeing with Locke's assessment.

"Anyway lad, I'll let you go. I see you're knackered, go have a bit of grub and some shut eye. You're going to need your strength for the coming battle. Have the Medic check out those wounds you're sporting! Even a paper cut can get infected and frankly another Guardsman six feet under is no use to me."

"Thank you sir, I will. Also, sir, would it be possible for me to request my section to conduct something for me?"

"That depends on what this 'something' is."

"I want to bury my horse sir."

"What! You want to waste what little manpower we have over a burying a bloody nag?" he said raising his voice in disbelief.

"You don't understand sir, I owe that animal my life. The only reason why you now have this warning is because of that horse. I can't just leave his body out there to rot or be picked apart by scavengers. Please sir." Said Locke in a steady voice, holding the Colonel's gaze. Just barely keeping the fear of his commander in check.

Colonel Demetris studied Locke for some time before sighing in defeat, "ah I must be getting soft in my old age, very well. You'll have 20 minutes to bury the beast, nothing more. Do you understand me?"

"Understood sir and thank you." Locke said thankfully.

Demetris waved him a way, "yes yes" he said with a casual wave of his hand. "Once you're down report to your platoon commander; he'll have a lot for you to do. Now off with you, I have a battle to plan."

With that, Locke stood up, saluted, and left. Leaving Demetris alone in his office. Once Locke left he went to find his section, he had a friend to bury.

* * *

Demetris counted to fifteen in his head before he called out at the curtain to the Guardsman posted to guard his office, "Corporal, be a good lass and fetch me my officers will you! And be bloody quick about it!"

"Sir!" said the unseen solider: swiftly followed by the familiar sound of running feet on a stone floor. Demetris smiled, there were some benefits to command after all.

Within fifteen minutes all of Demetris's officers were gathered around in his headquarters: silent, waiting for Demetris to start speaking. In the time it had taken to gather the various officers, Demetris had spread a map of the Monastery and the surrounding area, out onto the table: pined at all four corners with a various assortment of objects. _Looks like I finally found a good use for those requisition forms._

"Right then Ladies and Gents, I'm sure you're all wondering why I've called you here?" asked Demetris, the surrounding entourage all muttering agreement at the Colonel's assessment. "Well then, here it is, 'B' Company has been destroyed along with the small garrison at Outpost Landfall." Said Demetris Calmly looking around the room at the shocked faces.

"Destroyed? How? By who?" asked Major Halbritter, voicing the concerns for the rest of the assembly.

"Yes, they were ambushed by forces of the Eldar. Luckily scout rider Locke was able to escape to give us advanced warning."

"You aren't surely taking the word of a deserter seriously?" asked Commissar Virilus coldly, his red bionic eye focusing intently on the Colonel with a quiet whirr as it rotated. Demetris had always found the piercing red eye uncomfortable, far more so than the man's biological eye which was an innocent blue. _Maybe that's why he got it?_ Wondered Demetris, either way he didn't let his discomfort show.

"Guardsman Locke is many things Virilus, but he is no coward. If you must know he was ordered to return here by Major Skult himself." Replied Demetris, his voice equally as severe.

"Cowards always have an alibi Colonel." Responded the Commissar.

"Trust me Commissar" he sneered, "I know a runner when I see one and that boy ain't one!"

"As you say…sir" his manner betraying his true thoughts on the matter.

"What are we going to do sir?" asked a clearly nervous Ensign D'Elia from the Colonel's own Command Platoon. Her timely changing of the subject was welcomed by all present as the room collectively breathed a sigh of relief.

"My dear lass, we're going to bloody well fight these Xenos bastards. That is what we're going to do, we're going to hold this accursed Monastery until the last man."

Virilus visibly perked up at the Colonel's words, "we are the Imperial Guard, we do not retreat!" he intoned, his zeal earning him nods agreement from many of the other officers.

"So, sir, how many of these Xenos scum are we facing and how long until they get here?" Asked Major Halbritter inquisitively.

"A good question Major, from Locke's detailed, if slightly confused, account of events, it would seem that we are most likely facing a few companies' worth of Eldar warriors. I know that part of their force is made up of Howling Banshees as Locke saw them first hand. I'd also bet my life that the enemy war party contains Dire Avengers and Rangers as well. I will not lie to you, this is a terrifying adversary we face. We will need to exploit every advantage if we even have a hope of winning the day." His voice, deadly serious.

"The plan?" Asked Lieutenant Maxim of 4th Platoon, while Demetris walked over to the map. He motioned for the officers to follow him. "Major Halbritter, I want you to immediately deploy 'A' Company to sure up our defences along the wall. Eldar shurikens will pass straight through it as it currently stands. As well as that have your platoons set up their autocannons at regular intervals along the wall: ideally with fields of interlocking fire."

"I'm on it sir." Replied Halbritter plainly eager for battle.

"I also want the Hallway fortified, sandbags to be deployed here, here, here and here." He said gesturing at the map of the Monastery interior. "Sergeant Parre, the defensive position closest to the courtyard will act as a medic station, set up your triage there."

"Aye sir."

"Do we have any explosives at our disposal Colonel?" Asked Lieutenant Constanzi of 1st Platoon.

"We have a few snare mines but not enough to cover the entirety of the kill zone. We'll have to choose wisely where to deploy them."

"Surely the steep slopes and scree patches that cover much of the hill would deter even the most daring of commanders." Rambled Lieutenant Dumag of 2nd Platoon. "Might I suggest that we deploy the snare mines along the mountain path as well as positioning most of our troops on the North side around the gatehouse."

Before Colonel Demetris could respond, Captain Waylon, who had been silent until now, spoke. "Do not underestimate the Eldar my friend, they are as nimble and sure-footed as a rattling. I served with Colonel Demetris a decade ago when they attacked a mining facility on Brillon II, we thought our lofty position safe. That the cliffs and steep slopes impassable. The Eldar begged to differ, they advanced up a seventy-five-degree incline as if it were nothing. Not at the walk either, they sprinted up it, laying down fire as they came on."

"Preposterous! Nothing short of a tyrranid is capable of scaling those cliffs!" reposted Dumag.

Demetris pushed the thoughts of that desperate fight into the back of his mind, offering Captain Waylon a nod of recognition. "I'm afraid he's right Lieutenant Dumag, the Eldar will see those rocky faces as little more than a minor inconvenience." The Lieutenant harrumphed visibly but incline his head in acknowledgement.

"From Locke's story, I'm fairly convinced that the Eldar have with them a powerful psyker or a group of psykers at the very least."

"Witches!" sneered the Commissar in disgust.

"Indeed Virilus, this witch or these witches will prove to be a great nuisance. Where ever these mines are deployed, the witches will have already foreseen it-"

"Bloody unsporting if you ask me sir." Interrupted Major Halbritter.

"The Eldar force will avoid them due to their propensity to avoid causalities." Continued Demetris a shade of exasperation colouring his voice.

"Their concern for the well being of their warriors only compounds their weakness." Said Virilus matter-of-a-factly.

"Be that as it may, many a great commander has found his or her battle plan ruined by the foresight of these Xenos psykers. However, I have something that might make their occupation slightly harder to deal with." Said Demetris, his hand digging into his pocket.

The assembled officers leaned in, curious at their commander's secret weapon. Demetris riffled around in his pocket before pulling his enclosed fist out. He placed a small object on the table, once the officers got a look at the object, confusion rippled among them.

"Dice? That's how you'll beat the Xeno witches?" Asked Virilus disbelievingly, looking at the Colonel as if he'd gone mad. Demetris rolled his eyes, "not the dice itself but what it represents. Probability." He said looking around at the blank stares of the assembled officers, "think about it, these witches have to sift through the many possible futures that arise from every decision and random chance. That dice right there holds six additional futures that they'll have to work their way through. Each future different from the next, each with their own outcomes."

"You intend on numbering areas in the killing zone, whatever number the dice lands on, that'll be where we place the mines." Stated Lieutenant Maxim, an enthralled look on his face.

"You've hit the nail on the head Lieutenant Maxim, that is exactly what I intended." Appraised Demetris.

"So, the random nature of the dice throws part of the witch's foresight out of balance. Impressive, but will it work sir?" sussed Captain Waylon.

"Honestly? I don't know but it's worth a shot. We need to inflict as many losses on them as possible if we're to be victorious. Why not level the playing field? At the end of the day all is fair in love and war." Grinned Demetris, his old eyes bright with enthusiasm.

"Now, when battle is joined I want 1st Platoon to man the North side of the wall and gate house, 4th Platoon to man the eastern side of the wall which will leave 2nd Platoon to the man the south side. Lieutenant Martin, keep your 3rd Platoon in reserve here." He commanded, tapping the entrance of the Monastery.

"As you will sir."

"Lieutenant Koenen, set up your mortar section in the centre of the Parade ground, provide some artillery support. As for the rest of your HQ Platoon, keep them in reserve."

"By the Emperor it shall be done sir."

"Right then! Anymore I've missed?" a collective shake of heads.

"You know what you have to do! Jump to it!" finished Demetris. At that, the officers funnelled out of the small room one by one: leaving Demetris alone once more. _Emperor preserve us._

* * *

Locke, head bowed in silent prayer, stood over the rock pile that covered the grave of his dead mount. God- _Emperor, I know I don't pray as often as I should and for that I ask for your forgiveness. If you will have it of this sinner, please watch over the poor souls of the men and women who fell this day and of my fine steed that gave his all to get me home. For you are the light that banishes the darkness, my faith is my shield, Amen._ The rest of his section were standing nearby in respectful silence, watching their comrade with concerned expressions.

The sun had now reached its zenith, the sunlight warming them all. The air was filled with the sounds of chirping from the intriguing avian-reptiles that inhabited much of the forests of Deyria. The Guardsman had taken to calling them 'Pine Raptors', some had even tried their hands domesticating the small animals with mixed results. Ironically enough it seemed that the silent Daud had made more headway in that regard than most, gaining the trust of one of the small creatures which now followed him around or sat upon his shoulder.

They had moved the Fury's body away from the road and into a small clearing in the woods not too far away from the cleared ground of the killing zone. The grave had been simple enough to dig due to the lack of buried stones and roots: it was moving the body that had caused all the issues. Fury it would seem, even in death was still causing Locke headaches but eventually brute force and tenacity prevailed as the corpse was hauled into the grave. Locke felt even more grateful to his section for their help due to his sprained left arm which made any physical exertion a painful trial.

When they had been burying the body, Locke had gotten a better look at the damage Fury had taken. _By the Throne!_ The Xenos projectiles had ripped bloody holes into his left flank, the fact the horse had made it as far as he did shook Locke to his very core. "Must have been the adrenaline that kept him going" assessed Kern bluntly.

Even after his silent prayer, Locke continued to stand in place as if he were a statue, eventually Corporal Elis spoke up from behind him. "Locke let's go, Colonel only gave us twenty minutes. We've got to get back." She said gently. Locke only responded with an imperceptible nod of the head. As the rest of the section were starting to head away, Locke broke the silence.

"Why me? Why did I live when so many didn't? I could've just as easily have been cut down, but I wasn't. Why is that?" asked Locke, his friends turning to look at him once more.

"That's simple Locke." Started Jaxx, "You got lucky."

"A fortunate roll of the dice. That's all it was?" questioned Locke coldly.

"You can train a man to be the best solider that he can be but in the end being in the wrong place at the wrong time is all it takes to end his journey. That's war Locke, you've been in the Guard for as long as the rest of us bar Daud, you know this." Explained Kern.

"I do." Laughed Locke, his laughter empty: carrying no joy. "I've witnessed countless lives snuffed out like candles in the wind both by my own hand and by others. It all just seems so…pointless." He finished bitterly.

"Locke, I know you've gone through a lot but you're talki-"Jaxx was stopped mid rant by a sharp elbow jab to the ribs from Tapia. "Hey, what was that for?" Tapia shot him a hard glance finally silencing him.

"Sorry guys, I-I just… I don't know." Locke took a deep breath, "I suppose I'm just tired, it's been a long day." Said Locke, his expression distant.

"Aye, I'll say. Ya look like shite mate, get patched up an' 'ave a few winks on us." Said Brandr, his usual good humour instinctively brightening the mood. Locke smiled weakly at his friend.

"Brandr is right Locke, you've been through the mill. Get some rest." Implored Tapia.

"Aye, I suppose I've earned it." Said Locke in jest, his humour starting to return as his dark thoughts were pushed to the back of his mind.

"There we are, that's more like the Locke we all know and love." Stated Elis, smiling at the improvement in Locke's attitude.

As they walked back through the trees towards the Monastery, he stopped to glance back towards the small glade. When he turned back to continue onward, he noticed Daud staring at him. Of all his squad mates, Daud was the only one Locke hadn't figured out despite the years that they'd served together. Indeed, the man was a mystery to most of the regiment due largely to the fact that the man never spoke: not one word.

A white and blue pine raptor was hanging from his shoulder, it's red crested head tilting slightly as it too studied Locke with large yellow eyes. Even though Daud's face was covered by his helmet and rebreather, Locke felt sympathy in his gaze but most intriguing of all: understanding. Locke found himself oddly taking comfort in the man's masked stare. Before Locke could say anything, Daud had already moved off to join the rest of the section as they walked into the killing zone. Locke made to follow, groaning inwardly at walking back up the hill again.

After another small hike back up the hill to the Monastery, Locke found himself in front of Sergeant Parre: the head medic of the garrison. Locke had found the medic in his newly set up hospital tent in the hallway. He was overseeing the construction of a medic centre close to the courtyard. "Sergeant Parre?" called Locke.

Sergeant Parre sighed heavily at the sound of Locke's voice, "Guardsman Locke, what a pleasant surprise." He replied sarcastically.

The sergeant moved away after reprimanding two Guardsman for their rough handling of crates carrying fragile medic supplies. Locke trailed after him, but the Sergeant moved away again, kneeling next to an injured prone trooper who was lying on a small rickety medical bed. The injured man awoke at the Sergeant's presence. "Um, Sarge?" asked Locke shyly.

"Bloody hell man, I've got things to do for Throne's sake!" he replied gruffly, "So what is it this time? Got Kicked by a horse lately?" The mention of a horse sent a pang of sadness through Locke's mind. "Or my personal favourite, fallen from any trees?"

"You're never going to let that go, are you?"

"Nope! Do you know what this dopey prick did?" asked the Sergeant to the prone soldier who he was overseeing.

The prone Guardsman shook his head, "ah it's a ripping yarn" said the Sergeant revealing a gap-toothed grin through his beard. "See that lad over yonder" he said gesturing at Locke with his thumb, the prone shoulder turned his head to look at Locke. "Well that young Guardsman had a wee bit of a crush on a lassie from 2nd Platoon ya see."

"Sarge!"

"It was the red head wasn't it?" asked Sergeant Parre, enjoying the discomfort of the Guardsman.

"Can you just sort me out?" asked Locke trying in vain to stop the retelling of the story.

"In due course! Anyway, where was I? Ah yes! Him being the hopeless romantic, thought the best way into her pearly-pink panties was through some sort of gesture, so what does he come up with? He decides he'll cook her something! Very romantic eh? But this is the best bit, he decided he'd use pine raptor eggs to make her an omelette. Can you believe it?" The medic turned back to Locke, "did the idea come to you after seeing Daud's new pet?"

Locke remained silent not wanting to contribute to the telling of this most embarrassing tale.

"Anyway" He continued turning back to the prone Guardsman, "after a bit o'searching he found a nest sat atop the highest branch on one of the trees. Our brave Guardsman being who he is, ain't afraid o' no heights. So, he climbs up to the very top of the tree: he's within arm's reach of the nest. Yah know what happened next?"

Once more the prone soldier shook his head.

"Just as he's about to grab an egg, one o'the wee beasts jumps up out of nowhere" the sergeant emphasising the event with a feigned look of shock. "Scares the shit out of our dear lover-boy here. Bites his hand something awful! Then the daft sod lets go of the bloody tree all together which sends our starry-eyed Guardsman tumbling to the forest floor. When his mates brought him back to me, I had to set two broken bones and pull a seven-inch splinter from his arse!" the Sergeant guffawed at the memory, quickly joined by the prone soldier, while Locke looked on embarrassed beyond words.

"The lass wasn't impressed either, he didn't get any that night I'll tell ya that! Got to give him credit for trying though." He chuckled once more, "anyway matey you're healing up well, should be fine soon me thinks." Detailed the Sergeant patting the prone soldier on the shoulder.

Sergeant Parre stood up. "Right then Locke, let's have a look at ya." With that Locke stripped off his khaki coloured flak-jacket followed by his grey and brown flecktarn combat shirt. His T-shirt underneath was matted with dried blood, turning the usual dark green wool into an ugly maroon. Removing the T-shirt became a painful challenge as the piece of clothing had become fused with the clotting wound on his chest. When Locke tore away the clothing he grunted in pain as the wound reopened.

"Take a seat lad" said Parre indicating towards a stool: Locke obeyed. Parre ran his eyes expertly over the red line that ran across Locke's chest. "Doesn't look too deep, just a flesh wound." Said Sergeant Parre reassuringly, "shot at by an Eldar did ya?" asked Parre. Locke nodded, with that Parre cleaned the wound with some alcohol causing to Locke to groan in pain, "Oh suck it up ya big baby!" chastised the gruff medic.

Once he thought the wound sufficiently clean he applied clean linen followed by a bandage across Locke's chest. "There ya go m'lad, remember to clean and reapply the bandage once a day. Should clear up in a week or so, if the wound turns a weird colour: get either me or another medic to have a look."

"Cheers Sarge, could you do anything for my wrist as well? I think I sprained it."

"A flesh wound and a sprained wrist? Is that all? What's happened to the ill-fated Guardsman that I used to know? Grinned Sergeant Parre. Locke rolled his eyes at the Sergeant's teasing, "give us your hand then, lets have a look." Locke gladly allowed his left wrist to be inspected, "Aye so you have, bit of rest and it'll be right as rain." As he spoke he pulled a small piece of linen out of one of his pouches along his webbing which he preceded to tightly wrap around Locke's wrist.

Locke sighed with relief as the cloth was tied in place: the dull pain that pervaded much of his forearm lessening. "If that's everything I'll leave you too it. Feel free to have some shut-eye on one of the medical beds, Colonel told you me what you did. Damn good work!" commended the Sergeant Parre, with that he left the tent. Locke looked round at the empty beds and the multitude of medical equipment before sighing. He chose the medical bed next to him, as he climbed on it shook unnervingly, _feels like I'm about to fall right through it!_ The bed stopped shaking once Locke settled; almost Immediately the exhaustion that had been building for so long finally swooped in and took him. His eyes closed and was lost to the world.

* * *

 **Review responses:**

 **Oracle14 – Patience my friend, I shall do just that. I hope this chapter was enough to satiate your appetite.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello again chaps, here's the 5** **th** **chapter in my wee story. Some of my reviewers made some good points and so I've decided to change the date of where the story is set to 899.M41, hopefully that makes it a little bit more lore friendly. Although I must say, I always intended this story to be self-contained so bear that in mind.**

 **This chapter marks the end of the introduction (as I see it) as the next one will get into the real meat of the story that I want to tell. The next chapter will take far longer than usual as I have to plan out everything and make sure it makes sense. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy the chapter. As always constructive criticism is appreciated.**

 **As I love writing to music, I thought I'd share these songs with you. You may notice that sometimes the song in question pertains to the chapter I'm writing or it might be completely random. Song of the day: Rorke's Drift – Sabaton.**

* * *

 **Chapter 5 – The Storm**

Locke woke with a start as his left shoulder was violently shaken, followed by the gruff voice of Sergeant Parre, "Wake up sleepin' beauty, you've 'ad enough rest for now! Colonel needs every man, now off with you!"

"Ain't no rest for the wicked!" grumbled Locke picking himself off the medical bed. Despite his moaning, the small bit of respite he'd received had done wonders, he felt rejuvenated as he shook himself from his nap. He picked up the bundle of gear at the foot of the bed and left the medical station and entered the Hallway proper. _Damn, lads worked quickly this time._ Thought Locke upon looking at the Hallway which had been transformed from a friendly communal space into rows of barbed wire, sandbag walls and autocannon emplacements.

Locke glanced at his chronometer, he'd been asleep for three hours. _Best find the section._ He wandered through the building: weaving his way through the myriad of defences until he came to the parade ground itself. The plateau was covered with Guardsman milling about, bringing sandbags or logs from the stores to sure up the wall. Locke was thankful for the visor on his helmet due to the large amount of sawdust blowing around in the air from the various outdoor workshops that had sprung up where Guardsman turned carpenters changed the logs into more useful planks and beams.

The hiss of shovels hitting soil was a constant in the centre of the parade ground where half the Guardsman of 2nd Platoon were digging mortar pits while the other half used the excess soil to fill more sandbags. These were then carried off to various other parts of the Monastery by Guardsman of 3rd Platoon. Many of the labouring soldiers had stripped down to overalls as they laboured under the hot Deyrian sun.

Commissar Virilus was patrolling the various work stations, shouting encouragement like many of the other NCOs, "Almost there lads, an extra ration of amasec for the lot of you!" A loud cheer went up from the beleaguered soldiers.

It didn't take Locke long to find his section, after speaking to some Guardsman idling around, he was pointed in the direction of the stubby tower that stuck out from the Eastern wall. He immediately set off in that direction; he soon heard the familiar sound of his comrades' voices. Locke spotted Brandr leaning against the battlements, staring down into the parade ground; at the sight of Locke he waved to him, "bloody hell, that medic o'yours took his sweet time!" called down Brandr, grinning from ear to ear while his rebreather hung from a strap connected to his helmet.

"Sergeant Parre is quite the perfectionist. Didn't want to let me leave 'til he was sure ya see."

"Well ain't that just touchin' oh Corporal, look what the cat dragged in" he said looking over his shoulder.

"Brandr get back to work you lazy wanker!" scolded the voice of the unseen Corporal. A moment later, Elis joined Brandr with a hot flask of tea in her hands. "Locke get your arse up here! We need to bolster the walls" ordered Elis.

Locke mockingly bowed in response, "if that is what the fair maiden asks of m-" his idiocy was interrupted by a used teabag hitting him square in the forehead, the soggy projectile leaving tea on his visor. "Enough of that lover boy, get up here!" shouted Elis, her tone betraying she was in no mood for semantics.

Locke ducked under the low doorway and entered the tower. It was a fairly mundane scene that greeted him, Elis's haste to improve the defences became all too clear. _Somebody could probably knock this thing down with a careless fart!_ He found Tapia sitting atop a small stool in the corner; tirelessly calibrating her vox-caster. Jaxx and Kern were setting up the autocannon in the embrasure which looked down into the clearing below. On the side of the wall, close to the staircase which would probably be better described as a ladder, stood a neatly stacked pile of sandbags, plasteel blocks and timbre. Tapia looked up from her vox-caster as she noticed Locke's presence, "hiyya Locke, you fixed up now?" asked Tapia.

"Aye lass, I'm feeling like a new man. Amazing what a bit of shut-eye can do for a lad."

"Tsk tsk, napping on the job." Stated Jaxx sarcastically while smiling from his crouched position next to the autocannon, their previous schism forgotten. Kern merely grunted a greeting in his usual curt manner. "You got something to do Locke" he sighed.

"Thank you for concern Corporal." Said Locke feigning hurt.

As if on cue Brandr's face appeared at the top of the stairs, "A'ight Locke, give us an 'and with haulin' up them there sandbags."

"Aye, you go it." Replied Locke. _It's like mam always said, "Nothing like a bit of hard work to soothe the nerves."_

For the next few hours, he, Brandr, Daud and Elis worked around the clock to improve the tower defences. Sandbags were piled on top of the battlements and around the embrasure while logs were nailed to the walls both inside and out to improve their durability. The few plasteel bricks were placed in places likely to be occupied by one of the section as they provided the greatest amount of stopping power. Around half way though they were joined by the rest of their section who had finished their respective tasks.

When they began there was an undercurrent of fear which hastened their work, but this quickly started to fade once the improved defences took shape and conversation began to flow. "Why we even doing all this? Way I see it, just show 'em Kern's face and they'll be running back to whatever hole they crawled out off." Said a Jaxx who was half grinning and half grimacing under the exertion of lifting a plasteel block into position.

"Could do, or we tell 'em you shagged Mad Moxy, they'd be terrified o' the man that took on that beast." Taunted Brandr as he nailed another log to the wall.

"Boldly went where no man has gone before." Laughed Tapia which earned her a harsh glance from Jaxx.

Kern who was filling the embrasure with sandbags joined back into the war of words, "I'd rather they gave us a fight." He said confidently as he laid down another sandbag.

"Sure, you're not part Ork, Kern? Asked Locke jokingly.

"Now that ya mention it, I always thought me grandda' were a bit on the green side." Sniggered Kern.

"Looks like an Ork and sounds like an Ork. That's our Kern." Teased Jaxx. The giant lance corporal retorted with a shrug of his large shoulders, his face the embodiment of good-humoured indifference; the comparison to one of the galaxies most reviled races failing to dampen his spirits.

"At least we know Kern'll fight these Eldar bastards, knowing you, you'd probably try to get with one."

"I'm many things but even I wouldn't do that! One of the old veterans in 2nd Platoon said he'd seen one of them Eldar without their helmets on. Said it was the most hideous thing he'd ever seen: brownish yellow skin and a great maw!" said Jaxx,

"Must have been talking about your cock." Joked Tapia; the entire section broke out into laughter except for Jaxx who was left frowning at Tapia. His demeanour quickly changed once she blew him a kiss; after some brief flirtation, the group conversation continued to ebb and flow while they worked tirelessly.

A quick inspection was held by Lieutenant Maxim who judged the defences to be adequate, the section took some much-needed rest. Locke was especially thankful for having completed the task as the physical effort was starting to cause his injured wrist to throb. He did enjoy the group dynamic of the Section, but the feeling of imminent danger was one he couldn't shake. He was drawn to the solitude at the top of the tower which is where headed; to be alone with his thoughts.

Locke leaned on the battlements as he scanned the wide expanse of forests that spread out as far as the eye could see. In the corner to his right, Daud was perched on the battlements, his legs dangling lazily over the sides as he cleaned his longlas rifle. His small pine raptor was nearby, preening his feathers like a bird of old Terra. Down below in the killing zone, he saw the last of the soldiers deploying their snare mines. _Wouldn't it have made more sense to deploy them on the Northern path? Bah, the Colonel knows what he's doing._ The sound of footsteps on the tower staircase pulled his attention from his thoughts.

Brandr joined him, copying Locke's stance as he propped himself against the battlements staring out into the wilderness of the moon they had come to call home. "Is it just me but don't the sunsets of this place, that is when the suns actually shining, remind me of you Narvos?" Stated Brandr in his customary friendly manner. Locke looked to the setting sun, a candescent golden orb slowly sliding towards the mountainous horizon. "Aye that it does", Locke sighed, "God-Emperor knows what I wouldn't give to be back there right now."

Brandr chuckled, "Aye couldn't agree more mate, when we get back we'll 'ave to go to 'The Archduke's Arms'! It'll be like old times."

"First round is on you." Grinned Locke

"When is it not?" chuckled Brandr once more. "Pint o' Lakeland ale?"

"Brandr mate, you can read me like a book."

"Known ya for long enough"

"You never know maybe when we're back, Serina Mcgraph could be there."

"Throne sake I hope not, I still haven't got over what happened with her."

"Hey, you were four sheets to the wind, it weren't that bad."

"Locke, I puked on her and passed out on her lap."

"Ah…maybe it was that bad, still it's been ages, I'm sure it'll be all water under the bridge." Enthused Locke, slapping Brandr on the shoulder.

"She was givin' me the eye the whole night an' I went an' blew it."

"Happens to us all mate."

"Some more than others though eh?" he grinned looking at Locke.

"Oh, bugger off." Reproached Locke cheerfully.

The two continued to reminisce shared memories and retell old stories, while Daud and his pet listened. When Locke had joined the regiment, he found the silent man's presence to be highly off-putting; often stifling his attempts at conversation with his other squad mates, but now he found the man's presence more of a comfort.

Eventually Locke and Brandr fell into a companionable silence as they watched the soldiers down below, returning to the Monastery after having laid down the last of their mines. Speaking with Brandr about times past back on their home planet had caused many of Locke's dark thoughts to resurface.

The ambush chief among them, rose to the top of his mind leaving terrible images in its wake. A grown man shrieking for his mother while his entrails pooled at his feet. A lance corporal dying in silence, staring into his eyes long after the light in them vanished. A wounded man dragging himself away in an attempt to escape as a Banshee slits his throat; blood gushing like a fountain.

 _Emperor, if only they knew what awaits us! Death comes for us, this is a fight we can't win. All my friends, my family to face a battle that will leave us dead and forgotten! And for what? A decrepit Monastery and magic black stone? If the Eldar want it so badly, they can jolly well have it!_

Brandr interrupted his internal monologue once more, "would ya look at that!" he exalted indicating the setting sun turning the evening sky shades of bright red and purple. "Aye it's beautiful" he exhaled heavily, "I doubt I'll be around to enjoy it rise on the morrow." Said Locke melancholy colouring his voice. Brandr rounded on him in an instant.

"Don't speak like that Locke, ya know it's bad luck to say stuff like that 'fore a battle."

"What does it matter, if you saw what I saw this morning you'd know we're fucked!"

"Aye, maybe we are." Said Brandr thoughtfully, "maybe we are." He repeated, "this could be the end for you, me and everyone else here but the key word is 'could'." Said Brandr giving Locke a heart-warming smile. "Nothings set in stone and while we still draw breath the future is full o'possibilities. Besides you remember what ol'Juron told us."

Locke felt a small degree of loss at the memory of their old mentor, "The abyss smiles at every man, all a man can do is smile back." Intoned Locke repeating the dead man's words.

"His words are true Locke, he didn't say it 'fore every battle for nowt. I can't think of anybody I'd rather fight an' die beside than you bunch o' mongs." Locke burst into laughter, dark thoughts melting away, quickly followed by Brandr. _If my fate is to die here, no point in getting hung up on it._

"You always know how to get me smiling again." Smiled Locke.

"We keep each other going, you got my back and I've got yours."

At that Daud's pine raptor squawked loudly, "aye and whatever that thing is, has probably got your back as well. You named ya wee beastie yet Daud?" asked Brandr turning to the sniper. Daud looked up from cleaning his longlas to look at Brandr and Locke. Locke found himself leaning in; his curiosity peaked by the opportunity to hear the man speak but was unfortunately disappointed when Daud merely shrugged and went back to cleaning his rifle.

Before Locke or Brandr could comment, Jaxx's head appeared from the staircase opening, "Ayy up benders, Tapia's got the kettle on, you guys want a brew?"

"Ga'an then seeing as ya asked s'kindly." Replied Brandr.

* * *

Colonel Demetris stood on the Northern wall; looking through the battlements. He was joined by Major Halbritter, "All defences have been deployed sir as you commanded!" The Colonel was wearing his best uniform, newly pressed and crisp. _A solider should always go to his Emperor looking his best._ His chainsword hung at his side which he tapped intermittently as he thought.

"Capital Major, the men have performed well. Now be a good man and get them on parade, the enemy are close."

"Are you sure sir? None of the sentries have reported anyt-"

"Listen." Interrupted the Colonel; holding his hand up to signal for silence.

Major Halbritter cocked his head to the head to hear the tell-tale sound of an approaching army but all he heard was the sound of the gentle breeze. "Must be my ears getting bad sir, I can't hear a thing."

"Exactly Major, the local wildlife has gone strangely silent. They've never been very obliging neighbours before, seems odd they'd shut up now."

"By the Emperor…" realisation plastered on his chubby face, he turned to his bugler, "Sound the call to muster!" he commanded, the bugler took a large breath and sounded the proud signal that echoed out across the land.

It did not take long for the Guardsman of 'A' Company to form up on the drill square. Colonel Demetris walked along the ranks and file, flanked by the portly form of Major Halbritter and the intense Commissar Virilus. Off to the side stood the shy Ensign D'Elia holding the regimental colours aloft surrounded by pipers and drummers from Demetris's own Command Platoon. As the Colonel passed each Guardsman he would have something to say; words of praise and encouragement here and there. He even straightened a uniform up once or twice much to the embarrassment of the recipients of such scrutiny.

Locke found himself in the front rank as Demetris came down the line. When Demetris stopped at him, he looked Locke in the eye, "You're looking better Guardsman."

"Feeling better as well sir."

"keep your chin up lad, not every day a man gets to serve his Emperor" he smiled, with clap on the shoulder and wink of his eye he moved onto the next soldier in the line. After his brief overview he moved to the front of the formation to address them.

"Soldiers of the Imperium!" He called, his voice bouncing off the mountains and around the valley. "Hear me now, it will not be long before battle commences, the Emperor expects every to man do his duty! This battle will not be an easy one." W _hen is it ever_ , thought Locke.

The Colonel's voice while strong was sombre, "your strength, courage and faith will be sorely tested, make no mistake! Do not give into fear! Do not give into doubt; it does not become you!" His voice swelled with fierce pride and confidence, "We have fought across the Galaxy, you and I; crushed the Imperium's foes wherever they've chosen to stand! From the T'au to the foul greenskins! Defeat is as alien to us as these Xenos scum who besiege us now!" The Colonel's words struck a chord with the assembled Guardsman and many resounding cheers went up with every word.

"My friends, I will not lie to you, we are outnumbered but we've seen worse odds than this! But this matters not, for we all know the greater the odds the greater the glory! So, stand tall soldiers of Narvos: we do not give in in, we do not retreat, and we do not yield! Show no mercy, for you shall receive none! Fight to the last! Make them pay for every step they take! For I bring the thunder!"

"And we the storm!" shouted back the soldiers on parade, finishing off the regiment's motto. "The Emperor Protects!" Roared the Colonel which was answered with cheers and war cries from the assembled men and women. The Colonel took a breath deciding to bask in their collective martial pride and fury. Once it had died down he addressed Sergeant Durhan of 4th Platoon, "Sergeant Durhan, start the collection!" he commanded.

"Aye sir!"

"Alright you bunch of mangy scrotes! You know the drill! Got something you want to send back home, stick it in the bucket! You live, you get it back! You die, well, need I say more?" asked the Sergeant.

A collective shake of heads and an unequivocal "no sergeant!" from the amassed troops.

"Good!"

* * *

The sergeant wandered down the line of each rank, collecting letters, trinkets and mementos. Locke dropped the premade letter he had written six years prior; before every battle he would place the same letter in that bucket, but he would always get it back. _Never know, might find it's way back home this time._ "Ah Guardsman Locke, not giving up that fancy notebook of yours?"

"No Sergeant, got too much luck in it."

"Aye, we'll need it."

Locke always found the reaction of his section to the collection interesting. Elis, Kern, Tapia also deposited letters into the bucket. Brandr had written several songs onto pieces of paper that were held together via crude means. Jaxx simply threw in a small metal-cast puzzle, after asking about it, Locke found it that Jaxx's uncle used to make them for him to solve. Lastly Daud didn't give a thing to the collection, simply shaking his head. He wasn't alone, many other Guardsman didn't bother putting anything into the collection bucket; likely no relations of theirs were either alive or would care.

* * *

After the collection the formation was dismissed and took up positions at their predesignated places. Colonel Demetris always believed that the hour before a battle was the always the most unbearable, the build-up of tension bringing out the strangest of behaviours from the most civilised and mild mannered of people. Major Halbritter who stood beside him was checking his plasma pistol for the fifteenth time now. Ensign D'Elia fidgeted constantly, never being happy with location of the colours, shifting it to her left before moving it back to her right and back again.

The sun had long since disappeared behind the Dast Heights, now darkness covered the ground making him and his men even more nervous. The coming gloom had transformed the gentle breeze into a gusting wind that pierced even the warmest of clothing. Demetris did not shy away from the cutting wind nor did the Guardsman, in fact he welcomed it. _A man who defies the elements, defies the Gods themselves._ He gripped the hilt of his chainsword so hard, his knuckles turned to the colour of snow.

On his orders, great fires had been lit all around the Monastery to give the men some light to orient themselves. "Ensign, go to the Eastern tower, the men will take heart from seeing it flying aloft."

"Yes sir." She nodded and set off at sprint, the flag trailing after her.

"Master Piper McCormik."

"Sir?"

"When the fighting starts, you and your band play as loud as you can! You hear me?" said the Colonel turning to look into the eyes of the regiments lead musician. _Nothing like a bit of music to get a man's blood up._

"Aye we'll make a racket enough to wake the dead sir! Anything in particular you'd like to start off with?"

"Nothing like a bit of blue bonnets o'er the border." Said the Colonel in his distinctive jolly manner.

"You got it sir." Said the piper resolutely.

The hour crawled by and the tension intensified with it. Despite this though, the men around him looked straight ahead, lasguns at the ready. Their faces may have been obscured due to their helmets and rebreathers but Demetris could tell they wore stony expressions. _They have made their peace with the Emperor._

Without warning a snare mine exploded which briefly lit up the killing zone below. _Looks like our resident Farseer chose poorly._ "Open fire!" was being shouted all over the Monastery as the suspense diffused in a hail of gunfire.

"Sir, you should move back to the Command Centre!" pleaded the Major, "If you fall the men will lose heart!" Demetris was about to protest but he understood that he in some ways he had become the rock that his subordinates had latched onto.

"Very well Major, the walls are yours! If you need me I'll be at the HQ!" He turned around without a second glance back. The sounds of battle growing louder and louder as he marched back to the safety of the hallway.

Locke looked down from the upper battlements of the Eastern tower as flares split the night; setting it afire. With him was Brandr, Daud, Elis, Tapia and Ensign D'Elia who stood upright while she held the regimental banner. Kern and Jaxx were on he ground floor of the tower: operating the autocannon protruding from the embrasure. In the clearing below, squads of Eldar warriors were pushing forwards toward sight of them alone filled him with rage and dread in equal measure, he opened fire without a second thought. Even though their surprise attack had been foiled, the Eldar ran on with sure speed and grace which Locke begrudgingly respected.

"Bloody hell! Why won't these damn bastards stay still!" cursed Brandr as he slammed another charge pack into his lasrifle.

"It's almost like they don't want to die!" called back Locke.

"Shut it! Just keep up the fire!" shouted Corporal Elis who seemed just as frustrated with the impossible mobility of the Eldar troops below. They appeared as blurs; moving so swiftly that it was impossible for the unaugmented eye to track. From Locke's perspective, it was as if they had a sixth sense and would at random intervals change direction, ducking behind the tree stumps before advancing again. All this made aiming incredibly difficult, Locke could imagine Kern swearing with increasing intensity as he fired the autocannon in vain. _His creativity with language is always at it's best when he's fighting._

The orchestra of battle was punctuated by the bass rattle of autocannons unloading round after round into the valley accompanied by the whine of lasbolts filling the night with a high pitched crescendo. Strangely though, after the initial mine was detonated, the Eldar were somehow able to avoid triggering anymore. Whether this was due to shear luck or a quick adaption on their part was uncertain.

As Locke reloaded a fresh charge pack into his lasgun he saw a Banshee thrown back like a ragdoll as her leg span end over end high into the air. He felt a grim sense of satisfaction at the sight however that quickly disappeared once he heard the ear-splitting shriek of a person in pain. He gritted his teeth and ignored it, concentrating on the bagpipes and drums instead.

* * *

Autarch Bararos stood in the safety of the treeline as he watched the failed assault waver. Barely contained fury boiled within him as he watched an Eldar Banshee cut down by one of the Imperium's primitive kinetic weapons. If that wasn't bad enough, the Mon'keigh had employed some sort of Banshee tech against them, as an abhorrent noise reverberated around the Temple. "By the shards of Kaela Mensha Khaine! What is that vile sound?" he said to one of his nearby aides.

"I believe it's music sir."

"Music! They're even more backward than I thought. Send an order around, these so called 'musicians' are to be killed immediately!"

"Yes, my Lord!"

Turning back towards the battle, he spoke into the com-link inside his winged helm, ordering his Exarchs to fall back into the relative protection of the trees. Beside him in deep and somewhat painful contemplation was Farseer Ullaryne; her right hand pressed to her forehead.

"Farseer Ullaryne what happened? You told me the attack would be a success."

"I'm sorry my Lord" She said shamefully, "my analysis of the sands of time was…poor." She gasped.

"Everything else you have foretold has come to pass. So how did the laying of those Mon'keigh explosives slip under your watch?"

"I do not know my Lord, I can see every other decision that the Mon'keigh commander has made and will make but…" she paused to compose her thoughts, "It was as if part of his defence was left to random chance."

"Chance? How would he do that Farseer?" his haughty voice gaining a hint of irritation.

I do not know." She said inquisitively-completely ignoring the Autarch's impatience, "Whatever mechanism the Mon'keigh used, he managed to create duplicate timelines all identical except for the position of the mine field and like a fool I observed the first one to appear without looking at the rest."

"Be mindful such…blunders do not arise again Farseer! I will not throw away Eldar lives needlessly."

"Understood Autarch." She nodded in recognition of his words. Turning away from the brooding Farseer and back towards the skirmish, he spoke into the radio, "Exarch Anthal are your Dire Avengers in position?"

"Yes, my Lord." Replied the confident voice of the Exarch.

"Ranger Tennar, what of your rangers?"

"They've just finished calibrating their sights Exalted Autarch."

"Excellent, you may fire when ready." Ordered Bararos proudly.

* * *

"Look at 'em run!" exclaimed Tapia watching the retreating Banshees as they vanished into the trees; her voice jubliant yet unsteady due to the adrenaline rush.

"Aye, fleein' with their tails 'tween their legs!" Joined in Brandr who leaned down from the battlements cupping his hands. "Come an' 'ave another go if ya think you're 'ard enough!" shouting his challenge towards the Xenos lines. They were not the only ones, many other Guardsman were cheering and throwing obscenities towards their fleeing foe along with a few rude hand gestures.

"They'll be back, make no mistake!" warned Locke; his eyes never leaving the line of trees that surrounded the clearing, willing them to pierce the gloom to locate the enemy beyond.

"Stay sharp, check your weapons and wait for them to come again!" Called Corporal Elis, "Locke's right, it's not over, not by a long shot!"

More flares sailed into the air: turning night into day, revealing the tiny number of bodies of the fallen Eldar warriors. _Is that it? Is that all we got?_ _Should be way_ more _bodies down there._ Thought Locke, as he leaned the rifle of his Lasgun on the battlement. Glancing back, he saw that Ensign D'Elia hadn't moved from her position at the corner of the tower. Standing stoically; her hands gripped tightly around the flag staff, she looked as immovable as the mountain itself. _I'd move back to the rear if I were her._ Silence had settled across the Monastery apart from the pipers and drummers who were still playing their grand tune, thankfully obscuring the screams from the clearing below.

Suddenly a single streak of white light flew from the forest at the speed of light ploughing it's way straight through the Ensign's head; covering the aghast Guardsman in bloody gore and brain matter. Her body stayed standing for a few brief moments until it inevitably fell forwards, almost going over the battlements had it not been for the timely intervention of Corporal Elis. The corporal grabbed the staff from the Ensign's lifeless hands and stabbed it into the pile of adjacent sandbags; keeping it upright albeit at an angle. "Contact, treeline! Open fire!" her harsh shout shaking Locke from his inactivity.

The single shot was followed by an unceasing barrage of molecular sized projectiles fired from the coppiced cover of the surrounding treeline. "Fucking hell, get down!" shouted Locke as hundreds of the Xeno's projectiles struck the tower and all along the wall in an unbearable storm of fire. He watched in horror as he saw the projectiles chip away and penetrate the defences with ease. "Light them up." Locke heard the muffled voice of Kern through the floorboards as the Lance Corporal opened up with the autocannon; every shell fired roaring its defiance.

All around the Monastery, Guardsman were recovering from the initial storm of shurikens and were now firing back in equal measure. Red lasbolts; autocannon shells and luminescent shurikens criss-crossed long into the night. Mortar shells exploded amongst the trees, revealing silhouettes of the shadowy lithe figures. Locke and the rest of the section found that a good tactic was to wait in cover for a mortar blast. Once the mortar exploded, they would fire on the briefly revealed Eldar warriors however they found very limited succes. As another explosion smashed a tree into nothing more than kindling and firewood, Locke popped back up from cover, as did the rest of his section, firing at the figures who retreated from the onslaught.

One of them was too slow in moving and Locke put three lasbolts into him, blowing large chunks of meat from his ribcage. _One down, a shit tonne to go!_ He ducked back behind the parapet along with his section. While crouched he faced Tapia, "usually you can't hit a barn door from the inside!" she shouted, gasping with each breath.

"Got Lucky that time!" replied Locke, raising his voice to be heard amidst the noise. His hands were still shaking from the adrenaline, _steady Locke, you got still got a job to do._

As the section moved to take another shot into the treeline, Tapia was violently thrown back as a shuriken passed through her flak vest; the radio on her back exploding as the projectile tore its way out of her, her blood and pieces of machinery mixing together in a horrific display. Locke looked to her prone from, a disgusting gurgling sound emanating from her perforated lungs. "Sniper!" he shrieked; getting well and truly into cover alongside Brandr, Daud and Elis. "Did you see where he was?" shouted Elis, who was doing her best to ignore their dead squad mate.

Locke shook his head in response, his eyes fixed on the Tapia's corpse; the brain failing to comprehend the sudden death of his friend. The coppery smell of blood filled his nostrils making bile rise in his throat. Corporal Elis taking control of the situation took out a small broken piece of mirror; one of her prized possessions. She then tied the piece of broken glass to the end of her bayonet using a piece of string. "Alright here's how this going to work! Brandr, prop up your helmet on your bayonet! Daud you think you can bring this Eldar prick down?" A single firm nod from the ever-silent Guardsman, "Good! Okay Brandr…Now!"

Brandr raised his helmet just enough above the parapet to reveal the piece of headgear but not high enough to reveal the bayonet holding it. A shot smashed straight through the flimsy material, causing the helmet to arc high into the air. "Fuck sake, only had it a week!" Cursed Brandr.

Elis after observing the origin of the shot from her mirror called to Daud "Found him! Eleven o'clock! Top of the trees!"

Without a second thought Daud looked through the sights of his longlas rifle; scanning the canopy, settling the barrel on the battlements, and firing off a single shot. Locke glanced at the sharpshooter who nodded his head. _Got him._

Fighting continued long into the night but just from glancing about him Locke could see things were not going well. Below him to either side, the walls were covered in dead bodies where Guardsman had fallen protecting an artefact that they'd never seen, on a moon they'd never heard of. The endless torrent of shurikens was making short work of the Monastery defenders, _if nothing changes soon, we're all dead._ A shout of alarm caused him to turn; Brandr had taken a hit to the left shoulder, his arm hanging ungainly by his side while his other arm covered the open wound protectively. A slew of expletives left the soldiers mouth which under normal circumstances would have made a sailor blush.

"Locke get Brandr to a medic! Take the colours with you!" Ordered Elis

"Yes Corporal! What of everyone else?"

"We'll join you shortly, now go!"

If only to emphasise the Corporal's point, the Eldar fired a volley towards their position. White streaks of light passed overhead causing all present to duck even lower behind the wall. Shouldering Brandr and picking the flag up with his free hand; he made is way down the staircase and out of the tower, heading towards the medic station in the Hallway.

Looking around, Locke saw the chaos of war in full swing; a Guardsman too slow to get back into cover was hit multiple times: his body thrashing with every hit. The dead soldier fired off a single round as his muscles contracted. As the corpse hit the deck; the stray lasbolt struck an ammo crate of a nearby autocannon position, eviscerating the gun crew in an explosion of blood and limbs.

An adjacent Guardsman who saw the whole thing was near hysteric with terror; refusing to leave the safety of his position to fire on the foe. Locke could see that his fear was sowing the seeds of cowardice in the rest of his comrades however before the rout took hold; Commissar Virilus calmly dispatched the panicking Guardsman with a bolt round to the head. After seeing that, Locke decided to concentrate on the Hallway ahead.

The walls were awash with dying Guardsman. The Xeno snipers in particular were creating an immense amount of havoc as they priortised the NCOs and officers. As the leaders of the garrison dwindled so to did the effectiveness of the overall defence; the Guardsman losing heart. _Virilus sure has his work cut out for him._

Glancing at his wounded comrade he immediately knew the wound was a bad one; blood was seeping through the Guardsman's gloved fingers. It seemed that with every step, Brandr leaned more and more heavily on Locke; the pain evidently sapping his strength. "Hang in there mate, we'll get you patched up!"

"Fuck me this hurts!" he spat through gritted teeth.

The duo made their way across the courtyard, accompanied by a growing number of stretcher bearers and other walking wounded. It wasn't long before they bypassed the throng of barbed wire and sandbag walls as they entered the Hallway.

Normally it would have taken less than five minutes to get from one side of the building to the other, but the congestion of bustling soldiers slowed progression to a crawl. "Not far now mate, stay with me!" Encouraged Locke, Brandr merely replied with a weak grunt. All along the sides of the hallway sat injured men; the next more badly wounded than the last.

Eventually they reached the triage centre, Locke stood amazed as he looked round the large tent; almost every bed had an occupant. A host of tired and wounded eyes turned to face him as he stood in the entrance with the wounded soldier almost hanging off him. "Can someone help him!"

"Guardsman Locke!" Shouted the familiar voice of Sergeant Parre, "lay your mate in this bed here!" he commanded. Locke obeyed nigh on dragging Brandr across the floor to the bed; the previous occupant was being shifted off as he no longer had a need for such earthly possessions.

Locke laid down Brandr on the bed as gently as he could. While doing so he managed to catch a glimpse of the exit wound on Brandr's back. _He's still breathing with a hole like that through him! Tough son of a bitch._ "Alright Locke that'll be all, we'll do as much as we can." Said Sergeant Parre, although Locke wasn't paying too much attention as he looked over the Sergeant's shoulder. A man was being held down by several orderlies as the medic sawed his way through the man's leg, _or what's left of it._ His screams of torment filled the tent, many of the other wounded cast their eyes towards the operating table, wondering if they would be next to experience the butchers' knives.

Snapping his attention back to the head medic he nodded his acceptance of the man's words, but he wanted to talk with his friend just before he left. "We're ga'an to die here aren't we Locke!" whispered Brandr in a hoarse voice; spoken with none of his usual good humour. Locke knelt down beside him leaning in to hear his friend's words more clearly.

"Hey now, don't speak like that! It's bad luck remember!" smiled Locke parroting Brandr's words from earlier.

"It's hopeless!" said Brandr, a little too loudly, utterly crest-fallen. Locke clasped the man's good hand in his own and stared into his eyes. He could see that his friend was in terrible pain and close to despair. He knew he had to say something to raise his spirits or would be likely lose the battle against his injury. "Hopeless?" he mused. "Perhaps it is hopeless but hopeless is what they sing songs about; write poems about!" he grinned; displaying confidence he didn't feel. "Hopeless is the stuff of legend Brandr! And being a legend will get you laid!"

"How long did it take ya t' come up wi' that?" said the wounded man, a small smile playing at his lips.

"Saw it on the shit house wall, pretty good if I do say so myself!" smiled Locke as Brandr chuckled weakly.

"Bugger off with ye! I'll be alright, got a nice comfy bed now don't I!" He groaned.

Locke bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement of his friend's words; picking up the flag he hurried towards the command centre.

* * *

 **Review Responses:**

 **Oracle14 – I'm glad you liked it!**

 **Blinker182 – I pride myself on my detail, thank you! I shall endeavour to do so!**

 **BIBOTOT – I'm sorry that you aren't enjoying it but it is the story I want to tell. I would like to ask of you to hold off on your judgement (for now at least) until I have produced a few more chapters as really this is just laying the ground work for the setting and the characters. You may be pleasantly surprised with where I go with the story. I assure you there is no charade here, I will continue my story as I see fit and I will not be rushed!**

 **Disciple of Ember – Thank you, I'm glad you enjoyed it. I spend so long on every chapter proof-reading, re-reading the dialogue and in general making sure everything is logical and flows well (although sometimes errors get through). It looks like that is paying off. I'm also happy you noticed the characterisation of the regiment and the cultural tinges I wove into the Guardsman. Far too often in my opinion other writers make the IG so dull and bland instead of giving them their own culture, habits, traits and traditions. I was wondering if anyone would comment on the dice, I had the idea when I was going over probability in one of my University modules.**

 **Guest – Thank you!**

 **Fleece Johnson – I'm happy that you're liking the story as it stands so far. One of my biggest worries was that I wasn't making the writing interesting enough but I'm content that you're satisfied with my grammar and sentence structure. I'm a bit of a film and history buff (nerd) so you'll probably notice other references as I go on. I agree with you, the reason that Eldar/Human genre is considered well-worn and cliché is because of the multitude of unfinished and half-baked stories that litter this site. I've already mentioned this, but I'll say it again: you can't write a story based upon character interactions alone. You need an overarching plot to guide the character interaction and drive the action/drama. The lack of this is why so many fics get bogged down and are eventually abandoned.**

 **Expert93 – Glad you're enjoying it. By the time of release of this chapter I hope you haven't being waiting for too long.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello again chaps, here's chapter 6. I'm very sorry for the long wait, I've been unbelievably busy with my settling into my new house and my job. Unfortunately I would expect updates to be few and far between as I don't have as much time to write as I used to.**

 **Song of the day: New World Symphony (4** **th** **movement is my favourite) – Antonin Dvorak**

* * *

 **Chapter 6 – An unexpected outcome**

Demetris leaned heavily against the table, glaring at the map of the Monastery and the outlying area. He glanced around the building in which he'd set up his temporary command post; the sight of injured Guardsman coming from the parade ground weighing heavily upon him. Already growing weary of the confident mask he wore but the trials of command had taught him the necessity of putting on a brave face, lest the men lose heart.

His vox-operator, Guardsman Decker called from across the table, "Sir, Lieutenant Maxim is requesting reinforcements", the urgency causing his voice to crack.

"Denied! Tell him to hold the wall with what he has!" he reproached.

"4th Platoon has taken heavy losses sir, they're below half strength."

He rested his head in his hands; _1,2,3,4 inhale – 1,2,3,4 exhale._

"Lieutenant Koenen's mortar section has expended all their ammunition sir!" Called out the Decker once more.

"Have them relieve the hardest pressed areas!" The strain in his voice starting to show.

On it went, more requests from ever more desperate commanders all of whom were rebutted by their Colonel. He hated to do it, but he now knew that the only chance of survival for his men was to hold out until sunrise: _maybe then they'd be willing to negotiate?_ All of which meant holding the Eldar at the walls for as long as possible.

Ever since Demetris had heard of the incoming Eldar threat he had already set aside a backup plan; even if they couldn't hold the Monastery, he could still evacuate the Adept and his research in an attempt to recoup some pride in the eyes of the Imperium. Still it did little to alleviate the stress of his situation that seemed to grow with every passing minute.

His irritation with his vox-operator became so intense it took a will of iron to stop him from ripping the poor man's throat out. Luckily the ticking time bomb that was his annoyance was diffused by the timely arrival of Guardsman Locke being escorted into the command centre.

"Ah Guardsman Lo-"he stopped noticing the banner in his hands. The realisation hitting him harder than he would have expected, "Ensign D'Elia?" he asked tentatively.

"I'm sorry sir." Replied Locke with all the sympathy he could offer, it was well known that the Colonel and the Ensign had been close. Demetris turned away, his old leathery face cracking into one of deep sorrow: his lip quivering slightly. _I sent her to her death._ "Did she die well Guardsman?" His words catching in his throat.

"Aye sir, defiant to the end." Lied Locke as he laid the flag on the table next to the Colonel: who immediately started to trace his fingers through the embroidered silk. Several moments passed as all eyes watched the Colonel waiting for his next command.

Instead Locke-fidgeting with impatience-broke the silence, "I'll have to take my leave sir, I need to get back to my section." He stated flatly.

"That will not be necessary Guardsman. I was about to summon you anyway."

Demetris turned to the wiry Sergeant of his own command platoon, "Sergeant Hughes, debrief Guardsman Locke on what we discussed."

"It shall be done sir!" nodded the dour man snapping a brisk salute, "walk with me Locke, we have a job for you!" Locke obeyed leaving the command centre and its dark atmosphere behind.

Demetris watched them go, _good luck Guardsman._

"Colonel Demetris!" called Decker, Demetris turned back to face him with an audible grumble, "the enemy are advancing, we can't hold them."

"Emperor preserve us." He said under his breath. Hearing this news finally broke his resolve, "give Major Halbritter permission to fall back to the Monastery, we'll make our stand in the hallway."

"Uh…Major Halbritter is dead sir", _another dead friend, another body for the meat grinder_ "Captain Waylon has assumed command of the walls."

"Well tell him to fall back damn your eyes!" he snapped, his irritation boiling over. The vox-operator obeyed without hesitation.

* * *

Locke followed the Sergeant Hughes through the Hallway, heading towards the Atrium, "there isn't much time Locke, so I'll be brief. We're not going to hold out for much longer, we to need to get Adept Doric and his research out of here. There's a secret passage that leads through the Black Craggs, the tunnel opens up about 70 miles west of Outpost Landfall…or what's left of it. A shipment of supplies is due in four to five days, they'll get you off world."

He spoke in hushed tones to avoid being over heard. They passed through the openings in the barbed wire, killing grounds designed to funnel the enemy into the hungry muzzles of heavy bolter/autocannon emplacements. Of those Guardsman manning the barricades, most had their rebreathers fixed and visors closed. The visible faces that Locke saw were set in stone, realisation of the grim reality that now beset them.

"And how do I fit into this?" asked Locke with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"You'll be his guide. He's not the best suited for a long route march through the Deyrian wilderness as I'm sure you've noticed. You've scouted most of the surrounding area, you're the best man for the job."

Locke stopped abruptly, planting his feet firmly on the polished stone floor. "Not interested Sergeant, ask one of the other scouts." Replied Locke resolutely.

"There are no other scouts." The sour look on the man's face told Locke everything he needed to know.

"I won't leave, not while the rest of the company fights and dies here, there must be someone else. I gave an oath!"

"There is no one else." A hint of steel had entered the man's voice, "I'm sorry Locke, orders are orders."

"Fuck the orders, I'll be with my squad mates." Without warning Sergeant Hughes grabbed Locke by the arm, slamming him into the wall; stunning the hapless Guardsman. His lasgun fell harmlessly to the floor with a loud clatter, unable to help its master.

"Watch it Guardsman, command don't take too kindly to mutineers." Said the Sergeant, gritting his teeth as twisted the man's arm.

"Then you'll have to get Virilus to shoot me." Responded Locke as he struggled desperately in vain to free his arm from the Sergeant's grasp. The struggle was hopeless as he was well and truly trapped against the onyx wall of the Monastery.

"Listen here lad, take a good hard look at what we've got to look forward to." He locked eyes with the entrance of the Monastery past the barbed wire and the gun emplacements. The sounds of the dying: screams of unimaginable pain, explosions and the rattle of gunfire punctuated the man's point. "Aye, you gave an oath but sometimes fate has other plans for you." Preached the sergeant.

"I'll not abandon them." Protested Locke through clenched teeth; straining against the pain in his twisted arm.

"Tell me who's more important: your friends or the Imperium?" Asked Hughes bluntly. Locke refused to answer. "Which is it?" A hard punch into Locke's side followed his question. Locke refused to answer; another savage blow to his stomach. His instinct to double over and wretch stopped by his tormentor.

"Well?"

"The Imperium." Replied Locke, little more than a whisper.

"Good and who is it you serve?"

"The Emperor." Replied Locke a little louder now.

"Then you will damn well follow his orders, Guardsman." Stated Hughes harshly, he released Locke's arm. With his weight no longer supported; Locke fell to the floor like a sack of potatoes, sweet relief flowing into his aching limb.

Thoughts of vengeance filled his mind. _Lasbolt to the back of the head?_ Picking up his lasgun, his finger gently caressed the safety dial, only requiring the slightest amount of pressure to make the weapon active. He looked about: they were effectively alone, once they'd passed the Triage centre the only people around were the badly wounded and the dying. Those poor souls unlucky enough to be conscious gazed at the glowing alien runes on the wall while their lifeblood ebbed from their broken bodies. One or two had noticed the confrontation but none made to shout or move.

Locke sensibly pushed away the irrational anger: deep down he knew that Hughes was right but that still didn't stop him from hating the cheerless man or his circumstances. Picking himself up he hurried onwards to follow the Sergeant towards the Courtyard. Upon reaching the Courtyard, Hughes turned to Locke, ignoring the Guardsman's hate filled expression. "This is where we part ways, I apologise for the unpleasantness." His face remaining as solemn as it always was. _Miserable bastard._ "May the Emperor guide you on your journey Locke."

"You too Sergeant." Responded Locke, repressing the urge to sucker punch the man in the throat.

Without another word he slipped behind the door; closing it behind him. Locke was left alone in the Courtyard, before indecision had a chance to set in he rushed past the well and up the steps into the Atrium. Upon opening the door, he found Adept Doric still studying his notes.

Doric turned to examine the intruder but quickly relaxed once he recognised the Guardsman. Locke almost flinched at the sight of his friend. Adept Doric usually so chipper and well rested looked awful. His skin was unnaturally pale with dark circles underneath his twitching eyes. He wrung his hands nervously; Fidgeting like a madman, constantly looking around for danger: imagined or otherwise.

"Doric what happened to you?" Asked Locke in complete revulsion whilst involuntarily taking a step backwards.

"Not anyway to greet a friend." Laughed Doric uncertainly. "I'm glad you've come, yes there is muc-"

"Doric, I need you to shut up and listen!" Interrupted Locke, snapping out of his reverie at the sorry state of his friend. "Get all your gear, your notes, everything important that you can carry on your back! You and I are leaving!" Doric was taken back at the soldier's words.

"Leaving? What ever for?" He looked down at the floor, wringing his hands even more. His eyes darted around the room as if they were unable to concentrate on any one thing for more than a moment. Locke could have sworn the man whisper under his breath.

At first Locke, wasn't sure if the scholar was joking, although the man's innocent pallid expression gave him is answer. "Have you missed the fact we're currently fighting a battle with the Eldar?"

The odd scholar blinked a few times in revelation, he cocked his head to the side. It didn't take long before the furore from outside his sanctum filtered in: the high-pitched whine of lasguns, the dull throb of autocannon fire mixed in with blunt screeching of shurikens. "Oh my, so there is." Spoken like it was the most natural thing in the world. "I tend to filter everything out when I'm concentrating…and I have been…busy." He said listlessly, his ashen expression taking on a far away look.

Locke stood aghast, deeply unnerved by his friend's unusual behaviour. "Anyway… I've got orders to escort you through the Black Craggs and to the Outpost. You know how to access this secret passage way?"

"Uh…y-yes" nodded the Adept confusedly.

"Then gather up your gear and let's get going!"

"What of the Artefact?" snorted the Adept indignantly "You're not suggesting we just leave it here for the Xenos scum?"

"Yes, we're leaving it behind. I'm sorry Doric, I know your research means a lot to yo-"

"No! No! No! Absolutely not! We cannot leave. Not yet. Still so much to learn." interrupted Doric becoming incensed.

There was something wrong, Doric didn't act like this. He glanced towards the dais and the plinth; the artefact was exposed. "Doric, how long have you left the Artefact uncovered?" Asked Locke nervously.

"Oh that, normally I keep it hidden but I-I-I wondered if maybe the voices h-held the answer, I decided to listen...a n-new unexplored avenue for research." His fidgeting became even more pronounced, "Chaotic gibberish at first mind y-you but then I began to understand. Had an idea on why you couldn't hear them. I wanted to know!" Confessed the Adept, rage turning to sorrow as he sobbed into his hand. "For too long have the secrets been hidden away from me but not for long. Not for long!" His sobbing turned to happiness as he laughed with glee.

"The power this thing holds, the endless possibilities. The Old Ones power within our grasp. The Imperium must have it! I must have it!" His voice taking on an even higher pitch as he jumped up and down. It would have been comical if it weren't so disturbing, Locke decided.

"Okay" said Locke quietly, trying to calm the unhinged Adept, "even if that were true, there's no way of moving it, we can't even pick the sodding thing up."

"Wrong! So utterly wrong! That is where you come in!" Pointing an accusing finger towards the worried soldier. "Everyone who has looked upon the Artefact has heard the voices, except you…except you!" He grumbled angrily under his breath, "they told me you could wield it!"

"They?" inquired Locke becoming more worried by the man's rantings.

"The voices! They know!"

"Are you insane? After what you told me, I'm not going anywhere near it! Now get a move on!"

It looked at first like the scholarly man would argue but in a moment of sanity he nodded in begrudging compliance. Turning back to his desk he began to rifle through data slates and notebooks. Locke stood idly casting half-interested looks around the alien room. He mulled over the Adept's words, he still couldn't believe that the small black stone held the kind of power Doric claimed. He even started to doubt the validity of his mission, the Adept was no longer in his right mind. Whether the affect from being around the exposed stone was temporary or permanent, Locke wouldn't like to have guessed although he hoped for the former. _Would the Administratum even care about the research from a raving lunatic?_

His attention was snapped back to reality when he noticed that the Adept was now pointing a ancient stub pistol in his direction. "They said you wouldn't believe me, said you would refuse to face your destiny. Put your weapon on the floor…slowly. Slowly." Demanded the Adept, in an unsure voice, tears brimming in his unfocused eyes.

"Doric what th-"

"Be silent! I'm sorry my friend b-but it must be done. Now, drop your weapon!" to emphasize his point he fired a shot between Locke's feet, causing the Guardsman to flinch. The small firearm sounded like a cannon in the confines of the atrium.

Hesitantly Locke lowered the lasgun to the floor, not making any sudden moves as the Adept tracked his descent down with his pistol. "good, good. Kick it away!" Locke obeyed, kicking the lasgun with a shove of his foot. The weapon glided across the smooth floor and under a desk on the far side of the room.

"Turn around! Go to the Artefact!"

"Doric please, you're not thinki- "Locke stopped mid-sentence as soon as he felt the muzzle of the archaic firearm pressed to the back of his head. He decided to not test the patience of the unstable Adept and crossed over to the dais. He stopped next to the plinth: The Artefact was settled neatly in the cube like depression.

"Pick it up!" ordered Doric, his voice losing its unsteadiness now that his confidence grew. Locke could hear him talking under his breath, catching a few words. "Quickly…not much time…stone bearer…"

"Doric, please don't do this."

"Enough! Pick up the artefact! Pick it up! So close, so close!"

"Ple-"

"Shut up, shut up, shut up! Y-you have five seconds! I repeat f-five seconds to pick the stone up! So close, so close!" he cackled unnervingly. Locke refused to move however when Doric started his countdown, he quickly realised that was not an option.

 _Certain death or probable death? Oh God-Emperor, please don't let me die here today_. He hesitantly reached out to the black stone, stopping mere millimetres away from it. "Do it Locke, they command it!" Spoke Doric channelling his inner zealot. Taking a deep breath, Locke picked up the stone and nothing happened. He let out a long sigh; feeling completely relieved however this calm was brutally short lived.

Without warning a whirlwind of pain engulfed him, lightning passed through every sinew of his body flaying his nerve endings with invisible tendrils. It was as if his very soul was being mutilated and wrenched apart by unseen hands. He screamed with every fibre of his being as felt his mind crumbling into insanity. Despite his agony-fuelled desperation to release the artefact from his grasp, his limbs refused to obey his commands. Blood ran from every orifice as he stood like a statue; a sculpture captured in ghoulish torture. His vision became little more than a crimson haze so much was the torrent of blood that oozed from his eyes. His voice quickly failed him, now locked in a silent scream.

For how long he stood there in unspeakable agony he didn't know but as quickly as the torture began it vanished. Dropping to his knees, Locke breathed lungfuls of air as he fought the urge to vomit. He shook violently as his body began the arduous task of stabilising itself. Immediately reaching for the canteen in his webbing pouch, he took a long swig, rejoicing in the cold water soothing his hoarse and bloody throat.

* * *

Aristriel crouched low, she had finally found the well underneath the temple and now all there was to do was wait until the fighting started. Her journey along the river underneath the mountain had been highly uncomfortable. The channel cut by the passage of both time and water had not taken the height of Eldar into consideration, for several kilometres Aristriel had had to stoop low, traversing the underground stream in a crouched walk.

It hadn't taken long before her muscles began to ache, her body yelling at her; desperate to stand upright in an unyielding world of granite and soil. The journey had been done in pitch black, relying solely on the night vision of her Banshee helmet and the natural sense of direction instilled in her when she had been a ranger.

Several times throughout traversing the underground river, she had slipped and fallen upon algae covered stones, making her curse as she picked herself back up. The tunnels were filled with a pungent odour that rankled her nose and made her feel ill. It didn't take long to ascertain its origin; a thick black slime covered the walls and ceiling of the tunnel. Slippery to the touch with no promise of purchase, Aristriel struggled onwards in the unforgiving darkness.

Eventually the tunnel opened out revealing a small circular pool with a waterfall at the far end. Her night vision became saturated with light obscuring everything else in the small clearing. _Natural light! Thank you Lady Isha._ Without even thinking she jumped into the white bubbling liquid being churned up by the water falling from above. Her slime covered aspect armour quickly resumed its normal pristine condition.

Now satisfied with the condition of her apparel she gazed up at the light streaming down from above. The hole in the ceiling in which the light flooded down was at least three times her own height, with nothing around to provide a boost left her no option. Walking to the centre of the illuminated circle in the swirling whirlpool, Aristriel readied herself, stretching her tender limbs for the trial that awaited her.

Drawing the twin wraithbone daggers from the arm sheaths; she twisted them through the air, to right her grip. With a deep breath she launched herself vertically upwards in a spray of foamy water. She reached the lip of the hole just as gravity started to reassert itself. She plunged her right dagger with all her might through the slime and into the wall. The dagger, much to Aristriel's horror slid downwards a few inches unnervingly before finally coming to a stop. Wasting no time Aristriel pulled herself up and stabbed her left dagger into the wall slightly above the right. She quickly developed a steady rhythm, pulling herself up the shaft a few inches at a time. It was tiring work, her arms protested at the constant exertion, but she ignored it, keeping her focus squarely at the top of the shaft.

She noticed that as she climbed higher and higher, the shaft became narrower. Part of her wondered whether the design had been done on purpose, unfortunately her assessment of Old One architecture was cut short when her right dagger failed to gain a purchase on the wall. She slid downwards, undoing much of her hard effort until her left dagger arrested her premature fall. A jolt of pain ran through her arm causing her to cry out.

Taking stock of her situation she swung herself back up and drove the right dagger home. She resumed her climb once again. As she began to reach the top of the well she heard human voices along with the din of battle. Taking care to not be heard she waited for an explosion to mask the sound of wraithbone striking stone. Her progress slowed to a crawl, but she would not take the risk of being discovered.

Drawing closer she found the voices had gone silent. She waited by the lip of the well, ears alert. Listening for the tell-tale signs of life; breathing, footsteps, clink of armour or the rustling of clothing. After what felt like an eternity Aristriel was satisfied that there was no one nearby and cautiously pulled herself over the side of the well.

She wiped her daggers along her forearm; scraping away any residue goo before sliding them back into her arm sheaths. Towards the great wooden doors were the sound of combat, turning her attention to the atrium she knew that her quarry lay beyond the stairs and the wooden doors beyond. Giving a silent prayer to the Goddess Isha for protecting her thus far she drew her shuriken pistol.

Sticking to the shadows she moved across the courtyard as silent as a ghost; taking particular care not to disturb anything that might indicate her presence. Confidence grew within her, _foolish Mon'keigh, there is an enemy in your midst._

* * *

Doric was laughing hysterically, "They were right! Locke they were right!" intoned the Adept, his voice becoming high pitched; fuelled with shear excitement. "We have made history! This is the start of a new beginning, a new age for the Imperium of man!"

Locke still kneeling on the floor, looked up at the prancing madman. His hand clutched at his stomach, the physical memory of his ordeal still fresh. "you fucking son of a bitch!" coughed Locke, desperately trying to stop his vision from spinning.

"Forgive me Locke, I had to do it" apologised the Adept sincerely switching moods in a heartbeat, "we can set off…now." Trailed off Doric, turning towards the door, his brow growing dark. "She's here."

"Who?" asked Locke in a weak voice.

"The Eldar thief! They spoke of her, she wants to take it! She will not have it! Not while I still stand."

"Bullshit how would a single Eldar get in here?" Doric ignored his question, raising his stub pistol towards the door, "I know you're here Xenos filth! You cannot hide from me!" roared the Adept.

Locke wiped the blood, mucus and phlegm from his face; fixing his rebreather to his helmet he lowered his visor. Doric didn't even notice Locke getting to his feet until it was too late, hearing footsteps behind him, he turned to find the furious soldier's fist flying towards him. Locke caught the old academic in a savage upper cut which lifted the mad Adept off his feet; sending him flying into a desk. Doric landed hard in an explosion of papers and data slates, the sudden impact causing the desk to buckle. The groaning scholar lay still except for the slight twitch of his foot. _Hopefully he'll be himself when he comes round._

Indecision gripped Locke, he'd just knocked his charge unconscious and now he was holding an alien artefact. A strange warmth flooded his left hand as he inspected the stone. The dull runes that had covered the artefact had now lit up, so that it matched the other glowing runes along the walls and ceiling of the Monastery. Before he had a chance to collect his jumbled thoughts, he was interrupted by the door opening.

* * *

Moving close to the door, she readied herself for the challenge ahead. The stiffness in her muscles made her feel sluggish nevertheless a sore Eldar was more than a match for a dozen well-rested humans.

She knew that there were Mon'keigh in the room; from the sound of it, she knew that there were only two of the foul creatures. Some sort of confrontation was afoot. Hoping that she might be able to catch both unawares and cut them down quickly; Aristriel slid the door ajar as quietly as possible.

A single Mon'keigh soldier stood in the centre of the room, at the sound of her entrance he turned to meet her. Quickly analysing the human's stance; _lack of ranged weapon – limited to close quarters, stooped shoulders – heavy physical exertion - tiredness, defensive stance – low morale._ Her tactical analysis was rudely broken up once she realised what he was holding. _The Omnicron!_

* * *

Locke stared at the alien warrior, his mind raced as it tried to formulate a plan. _Oh shit_ was about all it could come up with _._ She made no move to attack, it seemed she was as surprised to find him there as he was to see her. As discretely as possible he pocketed the black stone into his webbing pouch, the movement breaking the deadlock. The Eldar warrior in response raised her alien pistol in the blink of an eye.

Locke frantically threw himself to the side narrowly avoiding the energy projectiles; landing hard on the smooth black floor. His hand instinctively went to his boot where a small throwing knife protruded lazily. _You can never have too many knives,_ the words of Sergeant Juron echoed in his head. He grabbed the hilt of the throwing knife and with a swift flick of his hand sent the blade flying towards his attacker.

He'd aimed for the alien's chest, but it seemed that his poor accuracy wasn't limited to just lasrifles. The knife went wide clipping the Xeno warrior's pistol: causing it to fly out of her hands much to the Xeno's surprise. _Fucking typical._ The pistol careened through the air, landing in amongst the piles of paper and data slates; completely lost to view.

Taking the opportunity, Locke sprinted toward the desk behind him in a hope of recovering his lost lasrifle. His hopes were dashed with the rush of footsteps behind him, whirling around to face his pursuer just in time, he managed to side-step a powerful slash from the Banshee warrior. She skilfully converted the blow into a deadly upswing, Locke's only saving grace being a wayward piece of paper causing his boot to slip. The killing blow that should have split him from groin to head, instead became a thin red line drawn across his abdomen: slicing straight through his flak jacket. Locke hissed in pain as he awkwardly fell backwards to the floor. Momentarily stunned: the wind prematurely knocked from his battered lungs. Out the corner of his mind, he felt a series of pulses originate from his webbing pouch.

The Banshee seeing her chance, reversed her blade into a downward thrust, time seemed to slow as the alien's sword began its downward trajectory. With not a moment to spare Locke rolled away from her blade which inelegantly bounced off the smooth black stone floor, unbalancing the alien. Afterwards Locke speculated that in that moment the agile Banshee could have probably skewered a Space Marine. The temporary respite gained in that brief moment was not waisted by Locke as he rolled back onto his feet.

Switching his stance to a low crouch, he drew his seax. The Narvish blade reflected the blue and white light of the Atrium in contrast to the Alien's blade which glowed with pure white energy. His short stabbing sword made from simple Narvish steel versus an ornate Xeno power sword. He was so outclassed he almost felt like laughing.

* * *

Aristriel glared at the human soldier, he was quick. Quicker than most of his kind for sure, but he was still a mere human. She pondered if this was the same Mon'keigh from the ambush, the one she'd stalked across the battlefield. In the moment she decided that he would do: killing him, she would avenge her fallen sister in arms. _Die well Mon'keigh._

* * *

His opponent took pause as if viewing the Guardsman for the first time, weaving her sword through the air in an impressive display. "Alright enough o'that." Called Locke to which the Banshee refused to answer: remaining eerily silent. He searched his mind desperately: struggling to remember what old Juron had said about fighting Eldar. " _Keep 'em at a distance because bugger me they're quick and I mean quick. Faster than a Catachan viper, don'cha know. If ya have to fight 'em toe to toe, only chance ya got is bein' unpredictable and even then... Do what they aren't expecting, they bloody well hate that…aye they hate that…"_

The Banshee came on again, Locke didn't dare bring his seax against her power sword knowing that the radiant blade would likely cleave into his like a hot knife through butter. He was forced to dodge all her oncoming attacks, bidding his time for an opening in her defence. The speed with which she lunged and slashed increased with each blow driving him backwards. Her lithe body moving in perfect tandem with her sword, they were one and the same. If Locke hadn't been so preoccupied with staying alive he would have been completely mesmerized by the Xeno's skill. She was like an artist; fluid but precise, her sword was the brush and her canvas was the battlefield.

Soon enough he was adorned with cuts and lacerations from an exorbitant amount of near misses. His swift reflexes keeping him in the fight by the skin of his teeth although the possibility that she was merely toying with him wasn't absent from his mind.

Pushed back time and time again, he was running out of room to retreat perishingly quickly and they both knew it. Not only was she the better and faster swordsman but her weapon allowed her greater reach than his short blade. Realising this fact, Locke made a desperate gamble. As the Xeno began a high swing that would have lopped his head clean from his shoulders. He caught the Xeno by surprise, stepping inside her swing getting as close as a lover.

Before she had time to escape he held her firm as he thrust his seax into the her stomach. His heart sank as the blade glanced harmlessly off her armour. Regaining the initiative, the alien headbutted Locke hard enough to make him see stars. Half stumbling half dodging, Locke by a mere whisker avoided the alien's lunge. He parried the Xeno's thrust just barely and responded with a poor riposte of his own.

To which she danced away from the swipe carelessly, like she had all the time in the world to move out of the way. Locke dropped to one knee breathing hard while his head throbbed, feeling the sting of the myriad of cuts across his body, he could feel his strength ebbing away. His gamble had failed and now readied himself for the final assault, the constant dodging and weaving was exhausting. _Come on then, finish it!_ Thought Locke, all the while incessant pulsing from his webbing pouch grew in magnitude and frequency.

She charged forwards, sword held low to impale him. Just as she was about to strike, Locke - using the last ounce of his strength, smashed the power sword aside with the flat side of his seax. Sparks flew as the two blades met. Carrying her momentum onwards she crashed into Locke in an attempt to knock him to the floor. In a last act of defiance, he grabbed the mane of her helmet as he fell backwards dragging her down with him.

Locke prepared himself for the fall, waiting for the cold stone to meet his bruised back. Instead a flash of light that blinded them both and the searing scream of reality torn asunder met them as they fell together. The Atrium vanished as they descended into the incandescent aether.

A blinding flash which seared Locke's irises was quickly followed by the two of them hitting the virgin snow, throwing up clods of slush as they tumbled and rolled together; the world passing by in a kaleidoscopic blur. Separating from his opponent: Locke bounced several times before sliding to a halt. Completely disorientated he struggled to comprehend the sudden change in environment, his eyes stung as they adapted to the dazzling light reflected by the snow. The unfathomably bitter wind swept over the snowy dunes cutting him straight to the bone. He visibly winced as the cold amplified the pain from his wounds; his sprained hand especially ached unbearably.

Lying in the snow, as he groaned in agony he began to rethink his life choices. _Join the Guard, see the Galaxy they said. Never mentioned you might find yourself half-dead lying in the snow on a random planet in bumble-fuck nowhere while your comrades die without you because some Eldar bitch wanted to steal a magic rock. It really makes you think_. He clumsily got to his feet like a drunk man raised from his stupor: stumbling around in a vain attempt to remain upright. On his fourth attempt to stand up he noticed the distinct lack of a short sword in his grip. The sobering realisation caused him to look frantically for his favoured possession, after several minutes he finally admitted defeat to the impenetrable white wasteland that surrounded him.

Pushing through his discomfort and the loss of his seax he remembered his assailant, glancing around he saw the Banshee sloppily rise to her feet. In complete contrast to the graceful warrior that had faced him before. _Superior senses not so useful now._ Not letting the opportunity go to waste he moved towards the bewildered alien as fast as his unstable legs would carry him.

The Xeno barely registered Locke until his fist knocked her back to the ground. She tried to respond with her sword but a quick kick from his boot sent the blade skittering harmlessly away across the snow. He straddled the alien; pining her to the floor all the while she thrashed around fiercely. With her at his mercy he clasped his hands her neck and squeezed.

Pulling an arm free she immediately started to claw at Locke's visor in a vain attempt to gauge out his eyes. Her hand spasmed around; scrabbling at Locke's chest in desperation to push him off. Despite her slender form she was unusually strong; to Locke it felt like trying to wrestle a particularly misbehaved horse. He remained firmly in position, ignoring the alien's vicious attacks; his attention entirely focused on crushing the Banshee's windpipe. In a last-ditch effort, she unleashed her Banshee scream while releasing a dagger from her arm sheath. Once more blood ran from his ears, the instinct to run almost unbearable. If it weren't for the fact that Locke's mouth was wide open it would have been almost certain that his ear drums would have been blown out. While he was still reeling from her acoustic attack she stabbed upwards towards his neck. Luckily the blow missed it's intended target and instead became firmly planted in Locke's shoulder making him grunt. His mind swam and numbness began to fill his left arm but gritting his teeth he roared in pain and anger as his grip held.

He only let go once she stopped fighting back and remained still. He breathed heavily, sweat stinging his eyes as he stared down at the red lenses of the Alien helmet. Turning his attention to his left arm, he readied himself: taking in a deep breath he pulled the blade sharply from his shoulder causing him to cry out. Blood spurted from the wound turning the snow an awful red shade.

Cursing bitterly, he lifted himself off the prone Xeno; casting looks around for any sign of his fallen sword. A glint of sunlight was the tell-tale give away, a few metres away the sword protruded from a deep snow drift. Reunited with his seax; he relaxed slightly at the familiar feel of the grip in his hand. His celebration was short lived, Locke froze in horror as he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye; the Banshee's chest was rising and falling. _Doing the job half-arsed is your special talent Tom._ Echoed the jolly words of his father. Spinning around he marched swiftly back to the unconscious alien, knowing what had to be done.

Kneeling next to her unconscious form; Locke placed the point of the seax where the Eldar's helmet met her armour. Before delivering the Xeno's well deserved coup de gras he inspected the Banshee more closely believing it unlikely she'd recover anytime soon. Her armour fit her slender form perfectly although Locke couldn't help but think that some areas might be slightly overexaggerated.

Royal blue gems adornments were fixed to various places along her torso the largest being above her sternum, all of which was in complete contrast to the stark white of her armour. Her head was covered with an unnerving skull-like helmet with the texture of polished bone; the infamous red mane splayed out on the snow beneath her. If it weren't for the Eldar version of a rebreather fixed to the lower portion of the mask it wouldn't be too hard to mistake the helmet as the alien's actual face. A dark green fauld hung down from her waist, intertwined in her legs.

Upon completing his inspection of the Xeno he turned his attention back to the task at hand: one sharp thrust through the neck would be all it would take to finish her. However, with the danger now passed and the adrenaline ebbing away, his conscience began to reassert itself. The reminder of a helpless being at his feet, with a weapon in his hands sent uncomfortable images flashing through his mind. Images he'd long thought buried resurfaced and the terrible memories they brought with them took hold once more.

 _A degenerate uprising on a hive world, a mutant rebel tries to help his wounded comrade…_

 _A Tau child screams for its mother in the ruins of its home…_

 _On a chaos corrupted world, a girl and her grandfather hide in a destroyed corner shop…_

 _A shell-shocked Guardsman faces the firing squad, begging for his life…_

He shook his head, clearing his mind. _Focus Locke, kill the damn bitch and be done with it._ Breathing steadily, he summoned his courage, _you've done this before, you can do it again_. Once more he placed the point of blade in the gap where her helmet and her armour met but his arm refused to move. _Fucking hell just be done with it,_ he shouted internally. The sword remained still in his hand much to his annoyance.

Locke cursed loudly as he paced backwards and forwards, muddling through his thought process to bring his unruly conscience to heel. Every time he believed he'd regained the resolve necessary to carry out the Emperor's will, he lost it at the final moment. Several times he went through the same process before storming off in a fit of rage.

Without thinking he kicked a snowdrift sending up clods of snow everywhere. "Why are you so fucking weak? For Thrones sake, she tried to kill me!" He sat down in deep contemplation, ignoring the cold and the pain. After a while his thoughts drifted to his friends battling on without him, his family and his home. Eventually Locke ended up staring at the seax that his father had made for him, reading the inscription 'The Emperor's Mercy' emblazoned along the sword's length. For how long he sat there he could not tell.

He wondered how ashamed his parents and his friends would be if they could see him now. A veteran Guardsman of several campaigns who'd seen more than his fair share of the horrors the galaxy could offer and he didn't even have the balls to kill an unconscious Eldar. Locke like many of his fellow Guardsman had heard of the atrocities and slave raids conducted by the accursed species, most too cruel to even contemplate. _So what's stopping me?_

Snapping out of his reverie he noticed a snowflake had landed on his sword; quickly melting away to run down the groove of the blade. The snowflake was followed by another and another. Soon enough the sky was filled with a torrent of snow that reduced visibility to almost nothing. Locke knew that to stay was a death sentence, he needed shelter. Noticing the outline of mountains in the distance, he shouldered his pack and set off toward them.

He walked by the passed-out alien deciding that nature would finish the job he so clearly couldn't: the cold would kill her as surely as a lasbolt to the head. He managed a few paces wading through the snow before looking around, the blizzard had already started to bury her; soon enough she'd be hidden completely. Her shivering form hadn't escaped his notice however. He coldly ignored her plight and walked stoically onwards, that was until the voice of his mother piped up from his memory.

" _The only way you'll be able to live with yourself afterwards is by knowing that you did some good in a Galaxy filled with unending death and destruction. Taking a life is easy; saving one, now that's hard. That takes courage."_ He stopped, indecision gripped him like a vice; torn between his mother's words and the Imperial Creed. Something deep inside him refused to let him go further, sighing heavily he knew what he had to do.

Turning around he gathered up the alien's fallen possessions: her sword and her dagger. As he collected the alien's weapons he noticed what looked like a glass box that had been shattered into many small pieces. Not thinking much of it, he left the shards where they were.

Turning back to the xeno, he Placed her weapons respectively back inside their corresponding scabbards on her person. He knew by doing what he was about to do he would be cast down as traitor in the eyes of the Imperium, but he brushed the thought away. Taking a deep breath, he carefully hoisted the shivering alien onto his back; causing his wounded shoulder to immediately protest to which Locke merely gritted his teeth. "you could have just killed her but no you had to save her, fucking typical!" said Locke bitterly reprimanding himself. _It's gonna be long walk._ Soon enough the hunched Guardsman and the lifeless Eldar he carried were little more than silhouettes on the horizon; completely lost to view as the uncaring snow kept falling.

* * *

 **Review Responses:**

 **Disciple of Ember - Thank you very much for the honest review, I've sneakily updated the chapter using a few of the points that you've made. So thank you for that (I'd completely forgotten about the Banshee scream). I Definitely agree with you that the relationship needs to be taken slowly however I disagree with the idea that he saved her because of the "nice guy trope". A simple fact is that in melee/hand-to-hand combat very few people can actually go in for the kill and that is because of a very strong instinct that evolved in us to minimize loss of human life and seeing as how Eldar are fairly humanoid looking I thought it fairly reasonable to assume that this instinct could extend to them. Lindybeige has a great youtube video on this its called "** **Shooting to kill - how many men can do this?" The best criticism is often the most harsh sounding so once again I thank you :).**

 **Guest – I'll not abandon it, bit by bit I'll get it done.**

 **Guest - Love making? I suppose next you'll want me to write about feelings? We Brits don't do things like that.**

 **ScareCr0w11 – Glad you're enjoying it! I hope I'm up to the task of living up to the hype.**

 **Another S.T.A.L.K.E.R – Haha, a fellow Centurion fan I see.**

 **VasiliusMaximus – Hi Vasilius, thank you for the feedback. I understand what you mean about the battle, the initial charge of the banshees was supposed to be a surprise attack, but they blundered into the mine field alerting the Guardsman to the attack. During the firefight I should have done a better job at emphasising the casualties on the Imperial side. Hopefully my writing will be better in future.**

 **York52 – I hope so!**

 **SOBANRED – Thank you! I shall try to do so!**

 **Murciamatthewx – Thank you, that's high praise indeed! I spent ages with the dialogue often going through 5 drafts mainly because I find that the banter between characters makes or breaks a group dynamic. Luckily, I have a good group of friends who I often draw upon to use as inspiration for my dialogue.**

 **Darthcookie – Glad you liked it!**

 **Fleece Johnson – Yeah, I absolutely love Sabaton! Think my favourite song of theirs is probably either Winged Hussars or Swedish Pagans. I've never read/seen Berserk, so I wouldn't know but I'm glad I managed to peak your interest with that little aside. I'm a big fan of war films which I draw a lot of inspiration from whenever I plan out a battle scene. It's true, it's a shame to see so many promising stories come to naught but that's why writers should always plan their stories in advance to avoid writing themselves into a corner.**

 **Kondoru – Thank you! Indeed, they do.**

 **Oracle14 – Thank you, that's very kind of you.**

 **Expert93 – Faith is my shield!**

 **Vumanchu – As someone who grew up in Northern England (right on the border with Scotland) I'd often hear the bagpipes and I absolutely love them. I think my adoration for the instrument was probably cemented when I saw the movie Waterloo (1970); there's this great scene of the 92** **nd** **Highlanders advancing while they're playing Blue Bonnets over the Border, it's epic!**

 **Nicomnovillo – Thank you for the constructive criticism, I didn't realise that the use of slang for the characters (primarily Brandr) might ruin the flow of the dialogue. While I won't get rid of it entirely I'll do my best to tone it down in future chapters. It seems that it's a fine line an author must balance; too much slang and the reader will find the dialogue too hard to follow while if you never use any slang, you close off an avenue that can add a bit more characterisation to your characters. The biggest example I've seen of too much intentional misspelling/slang is in the Kydd Novels (by Julian Stockwin) where the nautical jargon is laid on so thick that it completely ruins the immersion for the reader.**

 **Darthcookie – Glad you're enjoying it!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello again chaps, hope you've all had a merry Christmas and a happy new year! Here's Chapter 7 for you. Once again, I must apologise for the long wait but unfortunately trying to balance my career, social life, hobbies and this is proving quite a task. I'll also take the time to update all my previous chapters, iron out any bugs that managed to slip under my radar.**

 **Song of the day: Walking in the air – Aled Jones**

* * *

 **Chapter 7 –** **Purpose Renewed**

The seemingly endless blizzard showed no signs of stopping. The ominous dark grey clouds filled the skies; heralding the gloom and casting despair into the heart of any creature unlucky enough to be caught out in the open. Locke was one such creature. Hunched over: weighed down by his equipment and his Banshee shaped burden. Slowly shambling forward, leaving a long trail of disturbed snow in his wake; all the while the driving snow continued to fall, collecting on any flat surface.

The unconscious Xeno warrior hung limp across his right shoulder, limbs swaying with each agonised stride. Carrying the alien unbalanced him greatly; dishevelling his once proud posture. At this point he more closely resembled a beggar bent double under a sack of meagre belongings than he did a soldier of the Imperium. He trudged mindlessly onwards through the unobliging slush; completely drunk with fatigue.

At the start of his trek he'd cursed constantly as pain lanced into his wounded shoulder with each step taken. That was almost a pleasant memory now, the energy to blaspheme was utterly absent. The only sounds that could be heard sweeping those lonely snowy dunes was the rhythmic crunch of snow, clatter of kit and the occasional bestial grunt.

How long it had been since he'd set off? Was he even going in the right direction? Such questions were of no importance. The destination: the promise of shelter, were all that mattered now. The need to keep moving, the need survive drove him forwards. Any feeling that Locke had once felt in his extremities had long since abandoned him. His lower legs especially: each foot a numb lead weight gradually bleeding him of any vigour that remained.

Locke's vision was little more than a narrow window of a fogged-up visor intermittently blocked by the cloud of vapour blown out between his chapped lips. In his journey, he had noted how devoid of life the planet had seemed so far. He had passed some strangely armoured trees that resembled upright pinecones but for the most part it was just snow-covered moors.

Occasionally his foot would find a shallow portion of snow that would reveal a dormant fern-like plant that reminded him of the Fenwick ferns that grew across much of Narvos. His mind turned back to his home planet, a feeling of longing blossomed within him. As painful as it was, he quickly pushed the thoughts aside; the familiar image of hearth and home seemed so foreign in comparison to this frozen wasteland.

The cold itself clung to him tightly, sinking its icy claws ever deeper into his skin. It was so bitter that his rebreather had frozen to his face, tearing his cheeks with every movement of his head. Despite wearing several layers, any hint of warmth eluded him; he shook uncontrollably. In fact, so strong was his shivering: it was almost enough to destabilise his already unsteady legs.

 _Drop the alien! Leave her, she's weighing you down._ Said a dark voice with growing insistence. Locke ignored it, resigned to the choice he made way back when. For some time, the ground had been on a steady incline. _Must be getting close to the base of that mountain by now._

The thought of his arduous journey nearing its end spurred him on as he practically bounded up the slope: his vigour renewed. This came at a cost however, Locke's increased pace made him careless; several times his progress was impeded by concealed rocky outcrops. He stumbled and slipped but managed to right himself each time.

 _That all you got?_ Thought Locke as he smiled grimly. The pride in his tiny conquest was quickly forgotten as his foot slid on a patch of ice, hidden beneath the blanket of snow. Cursing loudly, he was sent crashing to the ground, leaving both him and his comatose passenger sprawled out on the windswept mountain side.

Locke groaned into a face full of icy powder, his sprained wrist crushed by the combined weight of both him and the Eldar. Lifting his face out of the indentation in the snow he came face to face or more accurately face to breast with the Eldar's bust. She was lying motionless underneath him, chest rising and falling gently, legs intertwined with his. _Steady on now._ Without a second thought, he immediately disentangled himself from her lifeless form and stood up, embarrassed by the accidental intimacy.

His eyes scanned further up the hill; peering through the swirling storm of silver flakes. He noted that the slope ended abruptly with the silhouette of a sheer cliff rising high into the air; the summit concealed by low level clouds. Picking up the alien once more, he tiredly resumed his journey upwards. Upon reaching the mighty crags, he made his way carefully along the cliff face. All the while desperately searching for some form of refuge: be it a cave, a gulley or an overhang. _God-Emperor please, there must be something!_

Even with the grey overcast skies, he could tell the sun was setting: what small amount of light remained was beginning to wane. The next few hours were spent combing the ragged slopes, seemingly searching in vain for a place to weather the storm. Panic was beginning to set in as his legs were finally buckling under the weight of all that he carried.

Fortunately, the God-Emperor was with him. Looking into the increasing darkness, he spied a small cave cut into the bluff. It was well hidden, at first he'd disregarded it as just a shadow but luckily for Locke a thin ray of sunshine briefly broke through the cloud highlighting the cave's depth. His spirit soared and if his mouth wasn't so dry, he'd have whooped with joy. Moving carefully, he made his way over to it.

Once he made it to the hollow, he wasted no time in half-sliding half-crawling his way into the narrow passage, momentarily leaving his pack and the Howling Banshee propped up and resting against the cliff outside. It was pitch black inside thus forcing Locke to temporarily retreat back into the cold to retrieve the compact rechargeable lamp buried in his pack.

With a simple press of a button, the darkness was sent reeling back into the many crooks and crevices. The small lamp illuminated the cave perfectly allowing Locke to gauge his new little home. The interior of the cavern left a lot to be desired; restricted space coupled with a low ceiling meant their stay would be an uncomfortable one. _Like me Mam used to say, beggars can't be choosers._ Shaking his head in disappointment he set to work; he had a long night ahead of him.

He spent the next few minutes pulling both his backpack and the alien warrior into the burrow. Once both were inside, he quickly set about making the cramped cave reasonably habitable. His first priority was the entrance itself. Rooting around in his pack he eventually found what he was looking for. Pulling his arm out of the swirling contents of his kit; a rolled-up camo patterned sheet was clutched in his hand.

It was a waterproof sheet, often called a 'basha', that would be used as a makeshift tent when in the field, among other things. Gathering up a few rocks of reasonable weight from both inside and out of the cave, he pinned the basha to the entrance. Not entirely satisfied he hammered home two steel pins through the metal loops and into the cliff face.

With the top of the sheet secured to the crag and the bottom half weighed down by multiple rocks, Locke was now confident the makeshift doorway would suffice. _That should keep the wind out at least._ Re-entering the cavern, Locke noticed a slight, albeit welcome, rise in temperature although it still did little to warm his aching and weary limbs.

His next task was the unconscious Howling Banshee. _What to do with her?_ There was still the obvious solution that would put an end to the matter entirely whilst also redeeming himself in the eyes of the Imperial Creed. Locke refused to contemplate it, he couldn't really explain why he saved her. It had just felt…right, it felt righter than anything he'd done so far in his time with the Guard. Besides he had already made the decision, and he wouldn't go back on it. _Damn the consequences._

Still, taking a moral stand had left him in a dangerous situation, she wasn't going to remain unconscious forever and when she came to, would she be thankful or vengeful? He knew nothing about these alien's nor their mindset nor their behaviour. Although first hand experience told him they were deadly, in this circumstance he figured that caution would be the best way to proceed.

Pulling a coil of rope from his pack he reservedly cut a number of short pieces to be used as improvised fetters. Crossing the divide between them, he crouched down to where she lay against the cave wall. She was sleeping soundly, _hopefully she's a heavy sleeper._ Searching his memory, he tried to remember what Brandr had taught him about knots. He felt a terrible pang of guilt at the recollection of his friend but brushed it aside. _Plenty of time to mourn later._

* * *

" _A'ight Tom, this here is the clove hitch knot." Said Brandr as he demonstrated tying the knot in a blink of an eye. "Your turn." He teased, smiling broadly._

" _Don't suppose you could do that again but…slower?" Asked Locke sarcastically. Brandr rolled his eyes in response, "okay, now watch. do as I do." Try as he might he just couldn't wrap his brain around the tiny piece of string in his hand. Nonetheless he did his best to mimic his friend, but his knot fell apart as soon as he pulled the two ends. Locke snorted in frustration, "hey, no worries, we'll make a fisherman out of ye' yet…"_

* * *

Locke smiled sadly at the memory, "alright, lashing two things together. That means I need to use a…uh…um…a sledge knot." Without further delay he carefully rolled the alien onto her back; her limbs acting like that of a ragdoll. Tentatively he tied her hands behind her back, calling out the steps as he went. "Wrap working end of rope around wrists…wrap around standing line and itself three times, work from bottom of knot up toward top of knot…" Murmured Locke mindlessly as he manoeuvred the rope. Finally pulling the cords tight, he ratcheted the knot into position.

Giving the bond a firm tug, he came away contented by the loop's tautness. Locke then repeated this procedure as he tied her legs together in several places. As a precaution he removed her daggers from her arm sheaths along with her power sword from its scabbard; squirreling them away well beyond her reach. Lastly as the final counter measure he sensibly slid her drooping body into his sleeping bag. _Try getting out of that one Xeno._

Locke visibly relaxed; confident he wouldn't be feeling a dagger pressed to his throat anytime soon. Pleased that the threat had now been dealt with, he turned his attention to himself: particularly his shoulder. Glancing down at his attire he was shocked to find that his flak jacket was hanging on by just a few hardy strands of material. He pulled it over his head to get a better look at the battered piece of body armour. Analysing the battle damage, he carefully traced his finger along the precise stab and slash marks that should have rightly cut him to ribbons.

 _Well old friend, you're looking a little bit long in the tooth._ Thought Locke has he brusquely chucked the battered flak vest into the recesses of the cavern. His uniform underneath hadn't fared much better: covered in multiple tears and lacerations. "Gonna need to do a lot of fucking sewing to put this right!" complained Locke, sending an angry glance towards the sleeping Eldar. He continued to remove the clothing covering his upper body layer by layer: first his helmet and rebreather, his smock then his combat shirt and finally his T-shirt.

The deeper the layer, the greater the amount of blood that stained the fabric. His T-shirt was the worst, the torn fabric mirroring the bleeding wounds on Locke's body precisely. The removal of bottom layer of clothing caused his lacerated shoulder to ooze a fresh trickle of crimson as the brown matted blood was rudely torn from his skin. He winced at the pain and begrudgingly began to probe the wound with his finger to judge its severity.

The answer made him recoil; it was deep, very deep in fact. _Shite it's going to need stitches, fucking typical._ Using his sprained hand, he took out the book 'Infantryman's Uplifting Primer' from his webbing pouch, flipping through the pages to the first aid section. He turned to the chapter titled 'The methodology for applying stitches in the field for either oneself or to a fellow Guardsman – Used for deep wounds from bladed weapons (Professional medical attention is advised)'. Locke couldn't help but roll his eyes, only the window-licking idiots from the Departmento Munitorum could phrase their titles in a such a bloated and uncreative manner.

Nevertheless, he read the instructions thoroughly, finding them to be the complete opposite of the title: short, sweet and to the point. _Hmm they must have got a different author, not surprising._ Firstly, he needed to wash out the wound. Taking out the canteen in his webbing pouch, Locke slowly poured the freezing water onto his shoulder, immediately washing away any impurities and sending rivulets of diluted blood down his scarred chest.

The icy water stung terribly, and it took a force of will to stop himself from convulsing away from the offending liquid. He bit down hard; refusing to cry out. After several moments of more torment, it seemed to his untrained eye that the wound was clean.

Next came the disinfectant and coagulant; a salty smelling white powder that came in small packets. Locke went to the webbing pouch marked with a red cross. Taking out one of the packets he swiftly bit the top off and proceeded to pour the powder into the bloody slit in his shoulder. Another wave of pain swept over him, feeling like his upper arm was being burned from the inside out.

This time he failed to control his voice as he cried out; the sound bouncing around the hollow. Grunting hard he fought back the pain that consumed his shoulder. After more than a few agonising moments the pain subsided allowing him to get to the next step. This was the part of the process that Locke had dreaded from the very beginning: sewing the stitches into his own flesh.

He gathered the necessary items: a needle misappropriated from his sewing kit and a thin thread that came as standard with the medkit. He knew that in a professional medical practice the surgical suture would be decontaminated beforehand. As that wasn't an option, he hoped that some cold day-old water from a canteen would suffice. _Trust me to survive all this just to end up dying from a sodding infection._ With a knot tied at the very end of the thread, he passed the thin fibre through the needle's eye. All that was left to do was plunge the needle into his own shoulder.

This was going to hurt, in fact it was going to hurt a lot. Prepping himself he bit down on a leather strap included in the medkit and took several deep breaths. _Okay Locke just imagine you're doing some fancy embroidery like Cora and Mam used to make…except it isn't some bit of cloth it's me own bloody skin._ He flexed his wrist several times, pretending to make sure that the thread wouldn't come out of the needle.

"Alright enough messing around." Mumbled Locke through the leather strap: reassuring himself. He placed the sharp tip of the needle at the top of the gash in his shoulder. "Come on now, faster we get this done, the better." Hesitantly he slowly slurred a reassuring countdown, "on three…one…two…three!" With that he plunged the needle into his skin. He shouted at the onset of the pain but kept pushing the needle deeper, angling towards the inside of the wound. The book recommended that a needle should go to about half its length before breaking through the bloody wall of the laceration.

He bit down so hard on the leather strap that it seemed that his teeth would shatter under the intense pressure. The needle passed through muscle and flesh finally exiting the bleeding wall of the fleshy ravine. Giving a hard tug on the needle, he felt the thread passing through the miniscule tunnel in his body. His chest rose and fell ever more quickly; his nostrils flaring as he breathed in swift panicked bursts.

Only when he pierced the wound on the opposite side of the bloody gorge did Locke realise he was reciting the litany for divine aid. The muffled words came blaring out through a clenched jaw and leather strap:

"Hear me… God-Emperor, and answer me, for I am poor and oppressed."

The last word he over emphasised as he pushed the needle into himself yet again, continuing his gory task. Locke could feel himself flagging, the blood covering his hand making him nauseous. His own body begging him to stop the ceaseless suffering, but the words of the Emperor lent him strength, a refuge from which to cling to and so he carried on.

"Preserve my life, for I am loyal… save your servant who trusts in you.

You are my God; pity me… Holy Emperor; to you I call all…the day.

Gladden… the soul… of your servant; to you, Saviour of…Mankind, I lift up my soul."

Slowly but surely, Locke created a steady pace as he pushed and pulled the needle through his injured shoulder. Every once and awhile pain would overwhelm him; causing him to pause or awkwardly emphasise a random word in his chanted prayer. The operation was making him perspire profusely despite the sub-zero temperature; his half naked body glistening in the lamp light. He wiped his brow with the back of his free hand, feeling his dark brown hair plastered to his head with sweat. The small streams of blood perfectly contrasted to his pale albeit tanned skin.

"O'Emperor, you are… kind and forgiving, most loving to all who… call on you.

O'Emperor, hear my… prayer; listen to my cry for help.

In… this time of trouble, I call, for you will… answer me.

None among… the false gods can… equal you, O Emperor; nor can their petty… deeds compare to yours.

All… of humanity shall bow before you, Holy Emperor, and give honour to your… name.

For you are great… and do wondrous deeds; and you alone… are supreme.

Teach me, Holy…Emperor, your way that…I may walk in your truth, single-hearted and…emboldened by your guiding light."

Over and over again he repeated this same prayer as he tirelessly worked the needle through his epidermis. After what seemed like an agonising eternity the last needle stroke was completed, and the thread was tightened. The wound made a sickening squelching sound as the two sides were brought back together again in a blood-spattered reunion. Locke took several moments to examine the ugly red ridgeline engraved upon his body. _Not up to Sergeant Parre's standard but it'll do for now._ As a reward he allowed himself a few minutes to rest giving the discomfort time to diminish.

Locke rubbed his aching jaw absently, letting the leather strap fall out of his mouth. Referring to the steps in the book, he carefully dressed the sutured wound; first with a gauze and finally the bandage to hold it in place. While he could still be bothered he used the opportunity to look at the various other minor wounds across his body and dressed them accordingly.

He slipped on a fresh T-shirt, feeling far better about himself now that he didn't look like some bedraggled murderer. _Good thing I keep one extra._ He had no spares for his combat shirt and smock however, so he would have to make do until he could get some replacements. Finally finished in his self-maintenance, he took a swig from his canteen, swilling the cold water around his dry mouth before swallowing. "The Emperor…protects!" Whispered Locke.

Tidying up the clutter of the cave he felt his weariness catch up with him. A reasonable spot had caught his eye from the moment he had lit up the cave interior. It was just across from where the Eldar was sleeping, nestled in a small crook in the cavern wall. He unrolled his thin foam mat and used his pack as a makeshift pillow. Wrapping himself up multiple times in his thermal blanket, normally to be used in conjuncture with his sleeping bag, he lay down in his crude bed.

The foam mat did little to stop the discomfort caused by the undulating rock however his fatigue was so great that he no longer had the energy to care. The need to sleep was irresistible and as soon as he closed his eyes, he was out like a light.

* * *

 _Lightning silhouetted the mountains in the far distance but did little to illuminate the darkness of the rotting weald. Wind howled relentlessly tugging at Locke's cloak; forcing him to hold his tricorne hat close to his head. He held out a flaming torch in front of him which guttered and flared in equal measure, a speck of light in a murky world._

 _The crunching of dead leaves punctuated by the sporadic rumble of thunder were the only sounds known to him. He continued through the dying wilderness; leafless trees and plants surrounding the ruined stone pathway. The land was utterly lifeless around him except for a small raven perched atop a dead branch of a grand oak. It watched him walk past with beady black eyes filled with malice._

 _The barbs of cruel-looking thorny bushes would tug at Locke's clothing, a few lucky spikes drawing blood. Ignoring these pathetic obstacles Locke travelled along the pathway which opened out into to a clearing. There stood a colossal stone archway covered in dead ivy which led into a stone tunnel carved deep into the mountain._

 _He wandered through the archway; holding the torch aloft. He made his way guardedly down the stone corridor that from time to time would split up into multiple tunnels. Locke had no memory of this place but instinctively knew the way. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of walking, he reached a great wooden double door. Pulling on the heavy iron ring that acted as a door handle, he was able to slowly open it. The hinges screeched loudly putting Locke on edge, disturbing this very still world._

 _The door led into a chamber complete in its total darkness; the light from his torch was pitiful in comparison. As he entered the chamber, the door slammed back hard creating a thunderous boom that lingered for a few heartbeats. The entrance was sealed. With no way back, Locke was forced to move forwards into the room clouded in both mystery and shadow._

 _Far off to the side and high above stood a balcony where a lone figure watched and waited. A single candle burning at his side; creating an oasis of light in a desert of darkness. He was hooded and cloaked; utterly motionless. Locke found the man difficult to look at, his outline seemed to be in a constant state of flux: growing, shrinking and changing shape. They continued to watch each other until the cloaked man leaned over and snuffed out the candle._

 _The light was immediately extinguished, and the man disappeared into the everlasting nocturne leaving Locke's torch as the sole source of light. The ceiling and the farthest walls of the chamber were hidden by the inescapable gloom giving off an impression of immense size. Locke slowly walked forward, moving towards the assumed centre of the massive hall; a lone star travelling through the void._

 _His footsteps echoed on the stone floor breaking a still silence. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as a chill spread down his spine. Looking around him, he realised that the door that he'd come through had become engulfed in the cloying darkness. He'd totally lost his bearings; any useful landmarks or waypoints had vanished. It didn't take long before he felt the familiar feeling of panic spread through his body like a plague._

" _Are you lost?" Asked a small voice in heavily accented low gothic. Locke froze and slowly turned around to face the perceived location of the voice. "Um…yes I am bit, I-I suppose." He was met with only a stony silence. "H-Hello?" He called into the impenetrable night. Several seconds went by with no answer. Cautiously he moved towards the concealed stranger. After nearly two hundred strides he paused, there was no sign of the voice's origin._

" _Hello?" He called out once more, gripping his torch so tightly his knuckles went white. There was someone here watching him, he could feel it. His eyes darted around him, desperate to see into the shadows. "Greetings Gue'la" said the voice, Locke nearly jumped out of his skin. He whipped round to face the strange newcomer; the burning torch leaving a trailing line on his retinas. The sight that greeted him made him take an involuntary step back._

 _A T'au child in a tattered robe stood before him; multiple horrifying injuries covering its body. It's left arm was missing; a river of blue blood cascaded down onto the tiles from the ruined stump. Half its face was missing, the skin cruelly burned away revealing the tendons and teeth of its jaw. While its brains leaked out of its shattered skull; an eye resting on a blue cheek barely attached to the remnants of an optic nerve._

"N- _No…no, it can't be! This is isn't real!" Shouted Locke taking a few paces backward._

" _Why did we have to die?" Asked the maimed alien child innocently._

" _What?" Squeaked Locke, the fear rising in his throat._

" _Why did we have to die?" Asked the Xeno once more as it took several steps forward. Locke in kind turned to run and bumped into something causing him to stumble and fall on his backside. An old man and his granddaughter dressed in burnt middle class finery stood gazing down at him, looking him over with inquisitive eyes. Well with what eyes that remained, as they too were hideously scarred and mutilated._

 _The old man's jaw hung at a funny angle as much of his visage had been ripped apart leaving a flayed nightmare of human appearance. The man's stomach had been laid bare too, his internal organs falling out of his belly forcing him to cradle them in his arms like a new born babe. His small intestine however proved too long and flowed over his wrinkly gore-encrusted hands to drag along behind him like a grotesque tail._

 _The girl wasn't much better while her face was still intact her torso had a massive hole blown straight through it revealing the damaged inner workings of her chest cavity. Blood flowed down her front and her back in a dual crimson waterfall. "Why did we have to die?" Asked the little girl while her grandfather mumbled something to that affect._

 _Locke was back up on his feet in the blink of an eye, backing away from the three ghoulish horrors; keeping the torch firmly between himself and them. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted more movement: his blood ran cold as he saw more of the vile creatures emerged into the light. A Guardsman with his chest cage rent wide open displaying the still beating jumbled mess of sinew, organ and bone._

 _A female mutant with multiple lasbolt wounds on her torso crawled from the darkness as both her lower legs were frayed wrecks leaving twin trails of lifeblood in her wake. Every single one of them ranged widely in their mortal injuries from the relatively subtle to the utterly graphic. The worst part though was their incessant chanting. Always the same question on their lips, "Why did we have to die?" Asked the growing crowd of mauled abominations in unison._

 _Locke backed away from all of them, waving his torch in an aggressive manner in the foolish hope that they might be warded off by the flames. The gathered mass of humans, Xenos and mutants took no notice of the burning torch being thrust towards them, moving towards him in a slow unstoppable tidal wave of flesh. Always asking the same question, "why did we have to die?"_

" _Get back! Don't come any closer!" The shambling congregation ignored his orders as they converged towards him from all sides. "In the name of the God-Emperor of Mankind, you will get back!" Roared Locke; drawing his rapier in his right hand. The mob paid his warning no heed. An adult T'au with a ghastly bayonet wound stepped up behind him, in response Locke spun round and plunged the blade into the alien's torso._

 _The T'au's expression didn't change as it looked down at the blade apathetically, "Why did we have to die?" It enquired in a deadpan voice whilst grabbing Locke by the arm. Locke violently tried to shake off the alien's cast iron grip to no avail; without thinking Locke thrust the burning torch into the alien's robes causing them to catch alight. The T'au screeched in pure agony that sent Locke's ears ringing. The alien released his hold allowing Locke to retreat, abandoning his rapier; still impaled in the inferno that was the alien's chest._

 _Locke ran wildly, weaving his way in and out of the sluggish ghouls, not knowing in which direction he had to go. He could still hear their endless chant, "Why did we have to die?" He looked behind him and was horrified to find they were shuffling after him. He looked back to his front, stopping just in time to not go over the edge of a gaping chasm that crossed the chamber. Turning back, he faced the baying mob of phantoms who were slowly catching up to him. They formed a semi-circle around him, cutting off escape completely. "Why did we have to die?" Intoned the walking dead._

 _Locke breathed hard, he recognised every single face that stared at him now. To his dismay, he noticed his torch was beginning to gutter out. As the light diminished the mob moved silently closer, reaching out towards him. Locke retreated backwards until he felt the back of his heels hovering over the abyss. The grasping arms grew closer, "why did we have to die?" chanted the masses with growing volume. For several moments Locke watched in horror as his torch sputtered and died, leaving little more than a few red embers._

 _The crowd surged forward desperate to catch him. Caught between the clasping hands of the terrible abominations or the black abyss. Locke decided at the last possible moment to go with the abyss. Just as a human with a round hole in his forehead came within a hairs breadth of grabbing his collar. Locke fell silently backwards into the darkness, gravity proving to be both his saving grace and his killer. The mutilated phantoms watched him fall with eyes filled with apathetic rage._

 _His tricorne flew off his head, disappearing completely while his hair spasmed in the whistling air. Turning around mid-free fall he saw a small light far below signalling the bottom of this supposed bottomless pit. As the ground rushed up to meet him, Locke heard the chant one last time, "why did we have to die?" before slamming into the ground._

* * *

Aristriel woke to the earthy stench of humanity filling her nostrils causing her to gag audibly. She tried to pull away from the offending smell which completely surrounded her. To her deep consternation, she found her body was incapable of complying with her demands. In fact, she could hardly move at all. Her aching limbs were restrained with rope shackles tied securely about her wrists, ankles and upper thighs. Her daggers and her sword had taken from her, the shame of losing her beloved sword; an heirloom from her mother's side of the family, hurt most of all.

She could feel the temptation to panic tugging at her mind. If she allowed it to gain a foothold it would act as a snowball rolling down a hill; slowly gathering speed and growing in size to eventually overwhelm her entire mental faculties. That would not happen, Aristriel Uí Fellmair was an Eldar of Alaitoc, had travelled down the path of the Ranger; now the path of the Warrior and as such she was above such things. Remembering her training, she channelled the cool discipline and cold logic into the act of meditation; mercilessly bringing her mind back under her absolute control.

With herself now calm she was able to take stock of her situation. She was in a cave partially lit by the rising sun, tied up and lying inside some sort of thermal sack. While she hated to admit it, the warmth offered was definitely welcome in contrast to the cold she felt on her helmeted visage. On the opposite wall of the cave she recognized the mon'keigh soldier from before tossing and turning in his sleep.

The realisation that he was merely a few metres away made her deeply uneasy. The last memory she'd had before her improvised incarceration had been one of him straddling her: hands clasped firmly around her slender neck. In that moment as her vision darkened she had accepted her fate. That didn't mean she wasn't annoyed to be bested by such an inferior opponent, far from it. He had only managed to win because of the timely intervention by that strange portal, no doubt created by that infernal artefact. How he'd managed to activate the Omnicron she couldn't guess.

All that aside, she observed the human in his distressed sleep, in the same way that a scholar looks at microbes under a microscope. She surprised herself by how fixated she was by his torment. Aristriel knew that humans were capable of dreaming but to what complexity those dreams could manifest, she did not know. Judging by the complicated feelings emanating from his prone form, it certainly wasn't a simple one. By analysing the emotional state of his comatose being, she had already deduced it must be some sort of nightmare.

This however drew her back to a question that she had been pressing at the back of her mind: _why am I still alive?_ In what should have been her final moments, she believed herself to be lost, her soul would be captured by her soul stone; most likely to be forever separated from Alaitoc's infinity circuit. Following her death, the small gem would probably be looted by this human as gaudy trinket to be pawned off or used as a romantic gesture to one of his kind. That is what should have happened and yet it had not. Had the human spared her? It seemed unlikely but not impossible. Although for what reasons an ignorant and indoctrinated member of the Imperium of Man would do such a thing she refused to fathom. She remembered hearing the awful stories about the debased nature of some of the human soldiers who assaulted Alaitoc, often taking turns raping any female Eldar unlucky enough to be taken prisoner.

She shuddered at the idea, the very thought filling her with a vengeful rage. At the back of her mind, she couldn't help to wonder absently if that was what mon'keigh had in mind for her. To be used as a plaything while he waited for the storm to pass. Why else keep her alive? She was an alien to him; an abomination that deserved to be cleansed from the Galaxy. She refused to allow herself to descend down that disturbing train of thought. Afterall she was an Aeldari, their lot in life was to bear the suffering their foolish forebearers had cruelly foisted upon them. Aristriel would endure whatever was thrown her way and she would be ready for anything that the uncouth barbarian tried to do. For now though, she'd bide her time, watching and waiting. When the time came to strike, she would take it.

* * *

Locke's eyes burst open whilst simultaneously jerking upright, his breathing both deep and fast paced. It took him a few seconds to verify his surroundings as he patted down both his face and the rest of his body, making sure that all of him was actually present. The strange events that had led up to his current predicament came flooding back to him, leaving him somewhat overwhelmed. A single question hammered inside his head. _What now?_ His wavering mind needed direction. Some sort of objective to keep his psyche from falling over the precipice into panic and madness.

For a long time, Locke pondered his next move. His nightmare had deeply disturbed him and caused long repressed memories to resurface much to his dismay. However, at the same time it had managed to provide him with a sense of clarity. _I need to find human civilisation and get this artefact safely back to the Imperium. I'll hand it off to some damn official and then it'll be their fucking problem_. If his endeavour was successful, the soldiers of the 195th Narvos light infantry: his friends and family, who fell defending that wretched stone wouldn't have died in vain. He owed them that much and so much more.

With his aim clear, he got himself ready. Seven years in the Guard had instilled in him the need to quickly pack up and go. By this point it was second nature and in just an hour he was fully dressed, and all his equipment including the basha was packed away except for his sleeping bag on account of the Xeno still occupying it. He had also taken stock of his inventory: five MRE packs and eight nutrient bars…seven nutrient bars as he'd eaten one to break his fast along with a cup of freezing water.

It hadn't escaped his notice that the alien was awake and carefully watching everything he did. He had been able to ignore her till now. The sun had barely risen over the horizon and Locke needed to maximise the amount of daylight given to him. Hopefully he'd reach some sort of habitation, assuming there was any on this planet, by the end of the day. _Long odds but you never know your luck._

He crossed the cave floor to where the alien lay, slightly propped up against the cavern wall. He crouched next to her, taking a few minutes to contemplate the strange image before him. A Howling Banshee Aspect warrior in full battle attire lying inside a standard Departmento Munitorum issued sleeping bag complete with Imperial Aquila. If ever there was a competition for the strangest things seen, this would probably rank quite high among them.

He couldn't help but chuckle at it which caused the Xeno to flinch backwards away from him. Although the red lenses of her helmet remained squarely fixed on Locke's own visor. "Alright lass, glad you enjoyed a bit of Imperial hospitality but I'm really gonna need my sleeping bag back." Stated Locke jovially with undertone of hostility. The Eldar remained silent. "I'll take your silence as a 'go right ahead'." With that he pulled the end of the sleeping bag out from underneath her, depositing her inelegantly on the cavern floor like a sack of potatoes.

In a short amount of time he had his sleeping bag nicely rolled up and secured to his pack. The cave was now completely devoid of any of his kit apart from the stuff he'd discarded. _Oh, I almost forgot._ Thought Locke. Reaching down into a shallow crevice, Locke pulled out the Eldar's weaponry from their hiding place. The unveiling immediately making the alien perk up, her head cocking to the side in confusion as he placed them at the far end of the carvern. He had been tempted to take the Alien's weaponry for himself, especially the Xeno's fancy sword but eventually he dismissed the idea. Another incentive for the Xeno to come after him was the last thing he needed. The question over what to do with the xeno still hung in the air but after constant self-contained debate Locke decided to give the alien the means to escape long after he was gone. _Hopefully she'll see this as a sign of goodwill._

It was a risky strategy but he theorised that by the time the Eldar had managed to untie the intricate knots that wrapped up her bundle of weapons and cut her own tightly bound shackles, he would be far away from this place. He still openly chastised himself for such foolishness but this solution meant that she wouldn't have to die nor did it mean taking her with him. Still, if she was

Mulling over the past events in his mind, he decided on one last safe guarding action. Locke knelt next to the alien, who tensed up at the close proximity between them. Without warning, Locke quickly grabbed the sides of her helm and smashed it as hard as he could into the rock face behind her. She flinched at the sudden contact and immediatley strained her limbs against her tight bonds but went limp as her head was violently thrown against the cave wall. "That's for Tapia." Sighed Locke, taking a few moments to watch the gentle rise and fall of her chest, ensuring her incapacitation.

He picked himself, saddled his kit and approached the cave exit. Locke turned back to the comatose alien. "Right then, that about covers everything. Farewell Xeno, good luck in getting back home and may we never meet again. Oh, and uh…lets both promise to never mention this to anyone…ever." The unconscious Eldar remained as silent as always. "Exactly, mum's the word." Stated Locke tapping his rebreather where his nose would be. "Cheerio!" Without another word he scuttled out of the hollow opening and into the light. As Locke began his long journey in search of civilisation, the Xeno slept soundly. This bought him more time but it would not be long before she would awake and soon Locke was about to discover the true tenacity of an Eldar warrior.

* * *

 **Review Responses:**

 **Blinker182 – Glad you like it!**

 **Guest – Surprise! I'm a mechanical engineer so I deal with moving machinery (for the most part) like engines, turbines, pistons, etc…**

 **Cake and lies – That is high praise indeed, thank you. I'm happy to see my writing is able to immerse you in the story. My biggest worry is ensuring that my writing flows naturally but it seems I've managed to hold your interest.**

 **Darkdrone – I'm glad you liked it although I think I agree with Disciple of Ember in that I need to improve my writing on the Eldar side of things.**

 **SOBANRED – Thank you! I'll try to keep going whenever I've got the time.**

 **Real Consequence – Oof "Xenos Lovemaking", now that's heresy. Thank you for your advice. If possible, I want to try to maintain the maturity of the story and avoid any cringey content.**

 **Guest – I will try but it's difficult trying to juggle everything at the same time and unfortunately more important aspects of my life take priority.**

 **Aaron Black – Thank you for the advice, I'll try to build it up naturally as I go.**

 **York52 – No no, I think Disciple of Ember made several good points both in the review section and in my PMs. The problems he pointed out essentially come from my imperfect knowledge of the lore and the unlikely premise of some of the events that happen in my story so far. I shall have to be careful going forward not to repeat these issues. Anyway, nice to see that you're enjoying my story as much as you do.**

 **Disciple of Ember – Criticisms noted, and I shall endeavour to take them going forward.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey chaps, here's chapter 8 of the story. Once again, I find myself apologising for my poor upload schedule but luckily I've got a bit of a treat for you. When I finally completed this chapter, it stood at about 14,000 words (yes, I know). I decided that that was too long, so I split it. I'll release the other part of this chapter tomorrow as Chapter 9 (sorry if that's a little confusing). I'm hoping to get the next one out before the end of July, maybe earlier if all goes well. Thank you to all the messages I've received, and your words of encouragement (some of which were very blunt :D) and I hope you enjoy it.**

 **Song of the day: The Passenger – Iggy Pop**

* * *

 **Chapter 8 - On the run**

The storm had broken in the early hours of the morning with the murky clouds retreating as quickly as an army put to flight. Now the sun reigned supreme over its expansive blue kingdom, hanging high in the air, about to reach its zenith with not a cloud in sight. The dramatic turn in the weather was a welcome change to Locke. Walking through snow was hard enough without visibility being reduced by a vicious blizzard. Although, the rays of sunshine that cascaded down offered little in the way of warmth to the beleaguered soldier but the combination of light along with his good progress was enough to keep him in good spirits.

 _Got enough food to last me a few days, if I ration it, could last me 'bout a week. If I run out, I'll have to forage or hunt. Not a great prospect, hunting is gonna be a right bitch without my lasrifle._ The wariness concerning his food situation was never too far away from his thoughts. The idea of scavenging for food did not sit well with him as well it should. Guardsman were taught early on in basic training to be very mindful of eating any local fauna and flora they happened to find; there had been too many incidents of stupid and easily avoidable deaths to disease or poisoning.

Turning his attention to a more positive side of things, he reflected on his successful journey, thus far. The first hour of any long march is always the worst; at first aching and tired limbs protest at the unending pace, the constant rubbing of clothes and equipment causes the skin to chafe and the shoulders fidget under the weight of the pack they are subjected to. This discomfort was made worse in Locke's case because of his shoulder wound and the various other cuts that criss-crossed his body; stinging from the salty secretions of cold sweat. On the upside at least the aching from his sprained wrist was finally starting to dissipate.

Pushing the hardship aside, he reflected on how soldiers often sing once they've broken camp which allows all the men to fall into step and distract them from the pain of travelling. Eventually though the body becomes accustomed to the suffering, allowing the mind to wander to other things. By this point guardsman will usually begin chatting to one another. Locke all on his lonesome had no one, so he was simply content to daydream.

While wandering down a wide valley, Locke fantasised about Emma from 2nd Platoon but was cruelly snatched away from his thoughts by an abrupt change in the sound of his footfall. Instead of the usual crunch of snow, his boot struck something solid, producing a light clunk. Crouching low to investigate; there hidden beneath the snow was a post made from a type of wood he didn't recognise. Excited by his accidental discovery, Locke eagerly brushed away more of the icy white blanket, to reveal an old warped signpost: green from decay and slimy to the touch.

It was difficult to read the inscription due to the degradation but by tracing his index finger along the indentation in the wood, the guardsman was able to make out the letters. "Kelna." He whispered the name uncertainly, the unfamiliar name twisting in his mouth. Taking that to mean the name of the settlement, Locke looked up, following the direct line of the arrow. Locke smiled behind his rebreather at his discovery, his journey was almost at an end. Without a second thought he strode smartly in the direction of the arrow.

It was after crossing a frozen narrow stream and reaching the summit of a nearby hillock that he found the presence of real civilisation… or more accurately what was left of it. At first his spirit soared at the thought of friendly Imperial faces and a warm bed, but that hope was quickly dashed. What he surmised must have been a meagre village, comprising of a few basic dwellings and a small Imperial chapel, was now little more than piles of rubble and ash.

The only thing left standing was the chapel although it was clear the stout little building had seen better days. The roof had been burnt to cinders while dirty black marks flecked the windows and doorways where the flames had spilled out like fiery tongues. The driving wind had caused snow to pile up high into large snowdrifts against the destroyed dwellings, giving them a definite tomb-like aesthetic.

Upon seeing the devastation wrought to this place, Locke immediately dropped prone to the freezing ground. The sudden coldness of the icy white blanket pressed against his front briefly made it difficult to breath. He took a few moments to adjust to the new temperature gradient while the snow leached the body heat from him like a thermal parasite. The breeze tickled the edges of his smock while he watched and waited. The remains of the hamlet were empty; deadly silent apart from a bell in the shrine which hung lopsidedly from a charred rope, clanging gently with each sway of the wind. Locke remained still as he continued to observe the destroyed settlement. The minutes passed but of any sign of life or movement: there was none. Drawing his seax from his scabbard, he cautiously approached the village.

The closer he got to the devasted buildings, the greater the thick smell of burnt wood. Despite his breather, it still caught at the back of his throat. Tears ran from his eyes as he fought his own body to stiffle any coughs that might leak from his throat. Eventually he won out and his throat began to relax. Moving deeper into the village; he darted from cover to cover, cautiously navigating his way across the icy shattered flagstones.

As he reached the shrine, he noticed large splinters scattered around liberally; remnants of the shrine's once heavy wooden doors. Sticking close to the wall, Locke edged his way through the open doorway, pressing himself hard up against the cold interior. Looking around, the shrine was obviously empty. Every horizontal surface was festooned with the undisturbed build-up of silver flakes that had fallen through the gaps in the crumbling roof. Now light flooded down from these holes in the ceiling ; pieces of snow-flecked glass and scorched timbre lay strewn around everywhere. Surprisingly a few of the benches were still somewhat intact although most were scattered and overturned. The pulpit stood defiantly, refusing to be ruined by the disaster that had befallen the rest of the temple.

Locke took comfort at the sight of the unmoved pulpit, reminding him of his own village's church. Although it was still unnerving seeing the Emperor's place of worship so desolated and lifeless. _Always something eerie 'bout a church with no pastor._ Thought Locke as he slowly walked down the rubble-covered aisle. He crept slowly, his eyes darting from bench to bench.

He skirted around the rays of sunlight which shone through the destroyed stained-glass windows. If anything lay in the shadows waiting to ambush him, he certainly wasn't going to give them a good view.

The sudden crunch of glass made Locke go still as he frantically tried to find the source of the offending noise. It wasn't until after several heartbeats that he looked down to find he'd trodden on one of the stained-glass fragments. Moving his foot carefully from the offending glass shard, he came face to face with the visage of one the primarchs who was now in multiple pieces. Remaining still he looked up toward the ceiling, "uh…sorry Lord." He said awkwardly while making the sign of the Aquila. The Emperor's apostle still looked displeased, even more so now that his face was no longer together.

Approaching the diocese, the Lectitio Divinitatus was spread open upon the pulpit, wiping away the errant frost. Locke took a quick glance at the crinkled and matted pages. It was the prayer for divine help: _Hear my words, O Lord; listen to my sighing. Hear my cry for help, my Emperor, my God! To you I pray, O Lord; at dawn you will hear my cry; at dawn I will plead before you and wait…_ Something terrible had happened to this place and to the people who had lived here.

The important question burgeoning in Locke's mind was who or what had wrought such destruction upon a tiny village out in the styx. _Is there a war on? It would explain the state of this place, classic scorched-earth tactic. Obviously this is some sort of Imperial world but who are they fighting against?_

In that moment it seemed as if the Goddess of fate herself had heard his very question and deigned to answer it. Just as Locke turned to right a fallen statue of the Emperor that had fallen from one of the alcoves, his foot caught upon a tripwire.

Locke's blood ran cold as a small contraption, previously unseen amongst the debris and snow, burst into life. With a loud whine, the machine sent a blinding red star screaming upwards through the hole in the roof and to the heavens beyond. The sound of the flare's launch was deafening in the confines of the chapel, causing Locke to instinctively cover his ears while the flash of light left a trail on his retinas. A few heartbeats later and the room returned back to its state of undisturbed silence while Locke was briefly stunned; slowly comprehending what had just happened. _You've fucking done it now._

For several seconds he watched the glowing projectile lazily arcing across the sky through the gap in the collapsed roof. Finally, the penny dropped and without a second thought he burst into motion. He sprinted down the aisle, flung himself through the gaping doorway, across the town square and ran out of the village; all pretext of stealth abandoned. Whoever had laid that trap was obviously watching thus reinforcing the need to put as much distance between himself and those terrible ruins.

* * *

Not too far away a large scouting force of greenskins was encamped at the edge of a small wood. The orks were going about their usual barbaric business: scrapping with one another, eating and preparing for their next fight. Around a dozen of the greenskins had gathered round a large bonfire; sitting on logs or random pieces of scrap, eyes attentively fixed to their next meal. Balanced on two crudely whittled branches sat a spitroasted squig; slowly being rotated by a team of lowly gretchin. "'URRY UP, I'Z STARVIN'." Complained Facebusta, bruxing his considerable canines which protruded menacingly from his bottom jaw.

"SHUT YA GOB, YA GIT. MOIGHT BE ROASTIN' YOU NEXT." Growled Gravesnappah who sat directly across from the other greenskin. Outraged by the threat, Facebusta stood up; the sudden movement sending two other orks back over onto their arses as their sitting log was displaced.

"YA WANNA SAY DAT AGAIN!" Challenged the infuriated greenskin, gesturing his axe towards offending ork.

"WE'LL ROAST YA! NOICE AN' SLOW!" Repeated Gravesnappah, pulling his own choppa from his belt.

"DAT'S IT, CUM ERE YA GIT! Roared Facebusta as they both manouvered around the bonfire and charged one another.

Sensing violence, the orks from across the encampment formed a circle around the two combatants, screaming for bloodlust. The gretchin, wily opportunists that they are, started moving between the larger orks, giving odds and taking bets in the effort to earn a quick reward of teeth. After their initial indecisive bout, the two ork fighters separated and began circling each other, grunting and posturing to the other greenskins around them. Gravesnappah was the smaller of the two and although he might not of have been able to match his opponent for strength, he made up for it with speed and cunning.

Facebusta sensing the time was right charged forwards, lifting his choppa high into the air with a two-handed grip; aiming to bring the terrible blade crashing into the weaselly ork's cranium. Gravesnappah met this assault with his own choppa; sparks flew as the weapons met and in a twist of luck, the smaller greenskin managed to redirect his opponents blow, leaving Facebusta unbalanced. Before the large brute could respond with another attack, Gravesnappah used his free hand and smashed his fist directly into the other ork's jaw.

The impact made a sickening crack as the jawbone broke and several teeth were dislodged; flying in various directions. Under such a horrible blow, Facebusta crumpled to the floor with all bravado entirely absent. Gravesnappah seizing the initiative, wasted no time in planting his choppa into the ork's skull before his collapsed opponent could respond. He roared into the air, announcing his little victory while the gretchin collected their winnings and opportunistic orks moved in to loot the fresh cadaver.

Gravesnappah noticed from the corner of his eye, one of the smaller orks pick up Facebusta's heavy stubber. "OI DATZ MA SHOOTA!" Shouted the victorious greenskin, outraged that another ork would try to take the best loot from his kill.

"IT'Z MOINE NOW!" replied Kirgrod, brandishing his own axe. Just before the next cycle of violence could happen, the chief nob Drazgad waded into the throng of greenskins, grabbing both Gravesnappah and Kirgrod by the scruff of their necks. "DATS ENNUF!" Bellowed the ork leader, smacking the heads of the two combatants against each other.

Flushed with success from his recent kill, Gravesnappah was undeterred and decided to try his luck. "I'Z SICK OF TAKIN' ORDAS FROM DA LIKES OF YOU!" Shouted the greenskin arrogantly, punching Drazgad straight in the face with all the strength he could muster. The ork crowd immediately stopped what they were doing and went silent as they all watched the pair's brawl. Gravesnappah had anticipated that the same tactic that had felled Facebusta would work again, he was however left more than disappointed. The ork chief barely even registered the blow; merely turning his head and spitting out a bloody tooth.

Turning back to face his stunned opponent, "YOU'Z GONNA PAY FOR DAT!" Growled Drazgad; throwing aside the smaller Kirgrod into a group of watching orks. With both arms free, he practically picked up the surprised Gravesnappah and began headbutting him over and over. It wasn't long before the ork's face turned into a battered and bloody ruin. The ork nob only stopped his merciless headbanging when one of the younger orks shouted for his attention.

"LOOK!" Cried the greenskin excitedly as he pointed towards the red flare "LOOK OVA DERE DRAZGAD, I'Z TOLD YA DEY'D CUM BACK. DEM 'UMMIES LOVE DEIR KNEELIN' PLACES."

"ZOG OFF YA GIT! CAN'T YA SEE I'Z BUSY 'ERE!" Scolded the ork chief, momentarily pausing his beating of Gravesnappah.

"OI DAZGAD DA GIT'Z ROIGHT! Joined in Kirgrod.

"DO YOU WANNA GET KRUMPED!" Shouted the irate war chief to the smaller ork. As Kirgrod backed away, Drazgad took his attention off of the bludgeoned Gravesnappah and turned his attention to the flare which had already began its calm descent to the ground.

From as long as ork nob could remember, he could always rely on his gut to tell him what the future held. Right now, all he could feel was a nice cosy warm feeling; a sure sign of battle to come. As certain as a moth drawn to flame, the chance to enact violence was something that no true ork could ignore. The greenskins around him ceased their rough housing and began preparing as they too could sense the call of violence.

Drazgad released the concussed Gravesnappah and began issuing orders to his various subordinates to break camp and fire up the engines of their war trucks. A scene of pure mania unfolded as gretchin and orks ran around their camp, gathering their equipment and mounting their vehicles. Very soon the smell of burning promethium mixed with burnt squig filled the air as engines from dozens of vehicles flared as one. _"_ I LUV DA SMELL OF PROMEFEEIUM IN DA MORNIN!" Shouted Drazgad, standing atop his war truck.

"BUT CHIEF IT AIN'T DA MORNIN' NO MORE!" Said a rather cheeky gretchin who earned a well-deserved sharp kick from the ork nob's boot.

Now that Drazgad had moved off, this had given Gravesnappah the chance to get back on his feet. He shakily picked himself up off the ground, to only go and blindly stumble into the bonfire. Against the backdrop of Gravesnappah screaming in pain as the fire caught his overalls and seared his flesh, Drazgad issued his orders. "ALRIGHT BOYZ, MOUN' UP. WE'Z GONNA 'UNT SOME 'UMMIES!"

* * *

The first thing Aristriel knew was the throbbing pain that came from the back of her head. A friendly reminder of the fact that she wasn't dead. Her induced sleep had been deep but amongst the pitch black of her mind, there had been scatterings of visions; brief supernovae in the midst of the slumbering void. These rare dreams had been sporadic with varying levels of comprehension: some vivid and memorable while others were dark and undistinguished. Not to mention unfocused, like a boat without a rudder: tossing and turning aimlessly upon the rolling waves. Aristriel's conscious continued to fade in and out until an image began to form.

 _A mon'keigh soldier was silhouetted against an unyielding red sun, his features were hazy; impossible to make out. He wandered without purpose through an inhospitable desert while a sinister shadow that was not his own, clung to his heels. The shadow whispered into the human's ear while he blindly walked forwards, oblivious to the poisoned words; his eyes completely transfixed on the horizon. Whatever words were spoken by the shadow were lost upon the wind._

 _Aristriel who was nothing more than an apparition drew closer to the two figures, like a moth to a flame. The shadow halted his scheming and turned his head towards her. Piercing amber eyes, filled with malice, locked on to her own; stopping her dead in her tracks. For several moments they stared at one another, neither moving as they appraised one another. All the while the mon'keigh continued to lumber forwards, leaving the two entities behind._

 _The shadow was the first to break the spell, a menacing smile spreading across his face. It was reminiscent of a cat toying with a helpless mouse but soon the foul entity's smile turned into full throated laughter. His sinister amusement sounded like the moaning of a million poor souls; a whiplash of dread froze Aristriel in place as his voice, a thing of terror incarnate, drove a wedge of fear directly into her heart._

 _Regaining control of her senses, she fled, while his vile mirth followed her; the hounds of hell yapping at her heels. Despite the distance she put between herself and the shadow, his laughter only grew louder and more malevolent. The image faded shortly afterwards and to what happened next, her memory failed her. There were other dreams of course, she saw distorted snapshots of her life; Her childhood, her lonely life as a ranger, the death of her family and her rise as an Aspect warrior. Yet all the while, the sinister laughter of the shadow still echoed at the back of her mind._

Her eyes flicked open, light poured into the lenses of her helm and as her eyes adjusted, she took in the emptiness of the cave. Instinctively Aristriel tried to rub the back of her throbbing skull but to no avail. Her limbs had been tightly restricted by the human's improvised shackles. Her weapons lay on the other side of the cavern, exactly where the mon'keigh had left them. When the human thought she was unconscious, Aristriel had seen the way he had looked at her ancestral sword, even though his visage was covered she still recognized the feelings of greed and conquest that exuded off him.

The mon'keigh could have taken it if he had wanted to, Aristriel was in no position to stop him and yet instead of claiming it as his own, he had left it behind. She could not help but be fascinated by the human's actions, he had showed some level of self-discipline and respect. _Perplexing… most perplexing._

Pushing the strange behaviour of the mon'keigh aside, she still had the dilemma of freeing herself and tracking down the Omnicron. _By Kaela Mensha Khaine, I will make_ _that mon'keigh pay for reducing me to this_. She rolled onto her front in much the same way a stranded turtle moves off its back, slowly gathering momentum before pushing herself over the edge. Now that her front was pressed horribly against the cold stone, she unstylishly began worming her way across the cavern floor towards her bundle of blades. It was slow going and she was ever thankful that none of her compatriots could see her humiliating predicament. Eventually, as with all successful voyages, her own awkward one across the cave floor came to an end as she reached the bundle.

Levering herself on to her left side, she grasped for her one of the daggers. As her hands were tied behind her back, trying to grab the dagger's hilt proved more difficult than she realised. Several times, she clutched at empty air, causing her to curse at every failed attempt. In the end, after a few adjustments to her position, her efforts were rewarded as her hand finally made contact with the handgrip of the blade.

Gradually, Aristriel retracted the dagger from its shackled prison and carefully reversed the blade so that the edge was pressed up against the rope that bound her hands. In an impressive display of dexterity, she sawed away at her crude bonds in a most prudent fashion. It was agonisingly sluggish work and as the minutes ticked by, her frustration only grew as the rope stubbornly clung to every last strand. Soon enough though, she was compensated for this undignified treatment with the delightful sound of fraying cords followed by a tight snap. A sense of victory permeated through as she rubbed life back into her aching wrists, allowing the defeated remains of the rope to tumble to the floor.

Now that her arms were free, she made short work of the remaining bonds. Within a few minutes she was free once more, the sliced-up bits of rope were strewn around her like corpses on the battlefield. Aristriel afforded herself a smile as she did a few stretches, enjoying the sensation of moving without hindrance. Satisfied that her body was relatively unhurt, she swooped low and gathered up her blades. After a few test flicks with her sword, she dutifully returned her various blades to their rightful homes in their various scabbards.

Climbing out of the cave proved to be harder than expected, her body had become lethargic due to her uncomfortable incarceration. Nevertheless, she willed her limbs to obey and not before long she crawled out of the hole in the ground and out into the light of day. She selfishly savoured the morning sunlight while a slight breeze kicked up small clouds of frost about her feet. Now that she was afforded an opportunity to take in her surroundings, she found herself amongst an icy wasteland that stretched off far into the distance in either direction.

Snow covered fields along with a few small woods dominated the landscape while distant mountains were highlighted against the royal blue sky. By observing the sun's position, Aristriel estimated that the planet had completed approximately two fifths of its current rotation. Provided that she had only been unconscious for a few hours, the mon'keigh could not be too far away. He was hurt with at least one major injury to his shoulder and was weighed down by his primitive equipment. _If I run cross-country, I might be able to catch up to him before the day's end._

Beforehand when carrying out her exodus from the cavern, a worrying speculation had wormed its way into her mind; the fear that she would have to spend precious time picking up the Guardsman's trail. Her worries were well founded as the blizzard that they had landed in, had continued throughout the night and into the early hours of the morning. Luckily for her though, the blizzard must have dissipated before the human had set off as his tracks were still very visible and so those fears quickly evaporated.

The depth of the boot marks indicated that he had begun his journey in a hurry, evidently hoping to get a big head start. She could not help but give a slight grin at the futility of the human's actions, soon he would pay for his foolishness. _Enjoy your little victory mon'keigh, for it shall be your last. Let the hunt begin._ She gave a silent prayer to the pantheon of heaven for the success of her mission and took a deep breath. Exhaling cloudy vapour, she began to walk which quickly picked up into a jog and finally moved into a full-blown run.

* * *

 _How did it come to this?_ The fragmented thought whistled passed as his feet pounded through the snow; churning up an ocean of silver. He took a glance behind him to gauge the distance between him and his pursuers. There was nothing but snowy hills, fields, hedgerows and rocky stone walls. However, this did nothing to calm his fears as the guttural rumble of engines echoing across the land appeared to draw closer.

Trying to pinpoint their possible location was rendered impossible due to the noise reflecting off the hills. The mechanised roar of cruel engines boomed from all directions, making it sound as if he was already surrounded. Internal panic continued to mount from within as his already frayed nerves continued to fray while his pursuers undoubtedly closed the distance.

Locke turned back to his front pressing further onwards; exhaling great clouds of water vapour out of his heaving lungs. Vaulting a hedge row, he landed hard on the other side. For a single heartbeat he feared he'd sprained his right ankle but was relieved to find no pain for once as his legs pumped furiously across the frozen turf. His shoulder ached, By the God-Emperor did it ache but to slow down would be to consign oneself to death. It was only when he crested a small rise did he finally get his first view of who hunted him.

Two makeshift vehicles burst out of a small copse; gunning their engines roughly in his direction. His blood ran cold, he knew exactly what they were. The two war trucks were just over a mile away, but they'd soon be upon him if he didn't get a move on. Even with the distance, Locke could make out a few of the details. The scrap metal hides of the cruel machines glinted in the sunlight while bulky green beasts hung from the war truck's sides.

 _Oh give me a fuckin' break! Orks, why did it have to be orks?_ Thought the bitterly fatigued Guardsman as he turned and ran in the opposite direction. The downward slope lent his retreat wings as he flew down the hill, his legs stumbling slightly in a particularly deep snow drift. He managed to keep his footing and upon reaching the base of hill, swiftly vaulted another low hedge row. Locke made it about halfway across the field before the fierce shouts of orks in their coarse language began streaming down the hill after him. His eyes were firmly fixed on the patchy woodland on the far side of the field however he risked a glimpse behind him. The enemy had finally reached the hillocks summit and were now driving wildly towards him.

The ork war trucks tore through the snow, sending clumps of slush high up into the air by merciless tyres while thick black smoke trailed behind as the alien motors flared; sensing the end of the chase. In spite of the ever-looming threat, Locke could tell he was beginning to slacken. His exhausted legs refused to move faster than a slow run. The burning sensation was now too great to ignore, the lactic acid streaming through his limbs made them feel like molten iron.

Gritting his teeth Locke pushed himself into a run, groaning aloud as the pain in his legs flared to an unbelievable level; he would not be able to maintain this pace for long. Unfortunately, the booming growl of xeno's contraptions and jeering greenskins drew closer, so much so that it became clear his efforts were in vain. Locke begrudgingly resigned himself; he couldn't outrun automobiles, not even the piles of junk the orks rode on. His burnt-out legs were barely capable of keeping him upright and so accepting his fate, he turned, drew his seax and faced his tormentors. In the end he contented himself with blowing thick clouds of vapour in the greenskin's general direction, his chest palpitating as he attempted to regain his breath. Locke's face, hidden beneath his rebreather and visor, was one of stoicism tinged with regret.

Much to his astonishment, he watched as the greenskins stopped their vehicles and dismounted, immediately continuing the pursuit on foot as they charged headlong towards him. The younger orks were the fastest off the mark, leaving their slower cousins behind. It didn't take long for the smaller, less experienced greenskins to get to the front of the rushing throng. Evidently they recognised that Locke had given up on running and instead chose to make a fight of it. Locke grunted, _fighting; out of all the activities that orks enjoyed, hand to hand combat was the thing they relished most of all_. He watched apathetically as the hulking monsters barrelled across the icy field, their boots pulverising the once pristine white blanket.

They whooped with bestial enjoyment, brandishing their feral weapons and roaring their delight of imminent violence. There were about a dozen of the awful creatures with only about eight hundred yards separating the foul xenos and himself. Those greenskins that had ranged weaponry quickly began sending as much lead towards the beleaguered guardsman as possible. Locke didn't take too much notice, billows of frost spouted up across the field as the rounds struck the ground. He'd faced orks before and their legendary inaccuracy almost matched his own; no this contest would be settled with blood and steel alone. It didn't escape his notice that that distance was quickly beginning to shrink. Adrenaline began seeping into Locke's muscles, causing them to shake slightly while his heart pounded incessantly inside his chest.

Locke glanced down in that moment; his boot had wiped away a layer of snow to reveal a dormant plant with a cream-coloured crystalline flower. _Hmmm that's odd, never seen a flower in winter before._ Even with the current situation, he couldn't help but ask questions to the open air. _Wonder what sort of plant it is? Why's it kept its flower in the midst of winter? How common is it?_ Locke stifled a hollow a laugh. _Here I am, 'bout to die and all I can think of is feckin' flowers._ He gently chastised himself but inevitably his mind began filling with images of the garden in his family's small hovel. Every spring, it became a rainbow of colour: the pale-yellow flowers of drowsy joys, the blood-red blooms of yeselas, the violet flowers of zambipers, the dark blue blossoms of ashen lavender and many more.

All the while, fenwick ferns would continue to sprout up at the garden's fringes despite the best efforts of his mother to remove them. " _I just don't get it, every bloody year I pull them out and yet they always seem to come back."_ His mother's words bounced around inside his head, making Locke smile even in light of his dire circumstances. Of course, Locke knew why they kept coming back. He never told his mother that it was in fact him that kept planting fenwick bulbs when she wasn't looking. He had always loved the tiny multicoloured flowers that came from the ferns.

The happiness of memory; so at odds with the alien savages that screamed for his blood at this very moment. It quickly faded to the back of his mind, _what I wouldn't give to see that garden one last time._ He sighed. Looking back to his enemies, he readied himself for his ultimate demise. A prayer to the God-Emperor silently passed his lips when he was suddenly struck by an idea. His free hand drifted to his webbing pouch that hung securely at his side. It only took a few moments of rooting around before his hand came away with the artefact in his grasp. The orks had now closed to within four hundred yards although thankfully they were spread out. The uneven depth of snow covering the field had reduced the speed of each ork by different increments thereby leaving some further ahead than others.

If his plan failed, he hoped to take on each ork individually, but the odds were certainly stacked against him. _Hopefully it doesn't come to that._ Thought Locke, willing himself to believe that his idea would be his stared at the ancient cube seated neatly in his palm; the various runes glowing white. The black obsidian of the stone, so foreign and yet so familiar stood in complete contrast to the pale snow surrounding him. Holding the strange black cube, he noticed the calming effect on his psyche; aches and pains that clung to his limbs subsided while a subtle wave of euphoria swept through his being.

Locke searched back through his mind to Adept Doric's words, _"The Artefact itself is some sort of repository but also an amplifier for warp energy"._ He knew preciously little about the warp which would often be counted by many as a being a blessing considering the state of the galaxy. Knowledge was something the Imperium kept to a strictly need-to-know basis and guardsman generally didn't need to know. Locke had been happy with this unspoken arrangement; content with being a little cog in a titanic machine: unseen and ignored. It was well-known that those who pried into matters above their station quickly met a swift and usually unpleasant end.

Still, he couldn't help but wish he'd paid more attention to the witches he'd seen three years into his service. During the horrific purge of the Hive world, Asturia, he'd seen a few sanctioned psykers dealing death and destruction to the enemies of the Imperium using their warp mastery. One in particular stood out, a mumbling madman clad in rags shooting lightning and fire from his hands, incinerating anything that stood against him. He almost wished that mad man was with him now.

 _If this thing is connected to the warp, surely I should be able to do things like those psykers?_ Thought Locke. Taking an estimated guess on the operation of the artefact, he cleared his mind, closed his eyes and concentrated solely on the stone in his palm while imagining images of fire. At first he felt no different but suddenly his mind branched outwards. There was certainly something there, it was difficult to describe but Locke could undoubtedly sense various auras that were previously unknown to him. Detecting this phenomenon, it seemed as if there were layers to reality overlaid over the top of one another. Connecting these layers ran what could only be described as threads of existence which both surrounded and passed through him. Locke found that any of his feeble attempts touch or manipulate these threads ended in failure. It was truly strange, trying to grab one of the infernal threads was like wading through thick molasses whilst trying to catch a spritely hummingbird.

Thinking back to the previous day and the portal he had inadvertently ripped into being, he hoped that he might be able induce another miracle into being _._ He wasn't sure what to expect but clasping the artefact in his hand he thrust it towards the oncoming enemy who were now little more than two hundred yards away. It did nothing, not even a wisp of smoke nor a flash of sparks. Locke tried several times more but was left crestfallen. Panic rose within him again and he began desperately trying to get the black stone to do anything of use. "Come on you useless piece o' shite!" he wrasped as he thrust the artefact towards the nearest ork once more. The greenskins were now close enough that he could make out the details; individual teeth, creases in their crude fatigues, facial scars, etc.

"Any fuckin' time now! Fire! Lightning! Anything'll do!" he whispered harshly at the obsidian cube in his hand. The artefact was noncompliant to his demands as sweat began pouring profusely from his forehead. The nearest of the xeno barbarians was now only several paces away. A frozen hand gripped his heart, his plan had failed. There would be no miracle whether it be through divine or arcane means. In that moment his desperation turned to fury. he tossed the artefact aside into a nearby snowbank. _Useless bloody thing._ The guardsman bellowed his war cry at the oncoming monster, venting his anger and frustration; Locke stormed impetuously towards his attacker.

The smell of the greenskin nearly bowled him over before their blades even had the chance to clash. A gross mixture of sweat, promethium and blood filled his nostrils almost making him wretch. The ork seeing Locke's hesitance, chopped his jagged axe diagonally towards him, hoping to split the guardsman in half. Locke still slow from exhaustion barely managed to dive underneath the swing. The wind of the weapon passed over his head but there was no time to stop, pushing off his back foot he raced towards the greenskin's legs in a reckless tackle. His wounded shoulder took the brunt of the impact as he hit the trunk of the ork's midsection. Locke screamed; the left side of his upper body exploded in agony as the various stitches in his shoulder ripped through his battered flesh.

The two combatants came crashing to the ground in a flurry of flailing limbs and curses. Both tussled to gain an advantage over the other; the ork screaming a feral challenge while Locke responded with an indecipherable one of his own. Due to the close proximity of the fight, the ork wasn't able to bring his axe to bear on the annoyingly nimble human. Locke fuelled by the terrible pain, began stabbing frantically through the alien's overalls and straight into the greenskin's torso. Bright fountains of ruby-red blood burst from each stab wound which soon turned the surrounding snow, along with Locke's uniform, a dark shade of crimson.

The vile sound of flesh wetly sucking at the blade filled Locke's ears as he continued to thrust the now bloody blade into the greenskin's body. The ork, slightly taken aback by the human's ferocity attempted repeatedly to bite his assailant with its his tusk-like maw but to no avail. The ork enraged by Locke's onslaught sent his fist flying towards the irritating human, a blow so strong it could have caved in the man's puny chest. Locke anticipating the strike, moved at the last-minute lessening the damage done by the xeno's meaty fist. Nonetheless, that glancing blow was enough to momentarily paralyse him and crack multiple ribs. Locke groaned with gritted teeth; his vision turning red. "Just fuckin' die!" he snarled, avoiding the ork's flailing limbs and drove his seax through the xeno's beady red eye and into its brain.

The green beast spasmed briefly; its mighty limbs stubbornly refusing to relent as the ork's brain comprehended its own death. Finally, it went still but there would be no respite for Locke, the heavy footfalls of crunching snow denoted his next adversary. He'd barely picked himself off the xeno's corpse when the next greenskin smacked him hard with giant club made of scrap metal. Locke crumpled under the blow as he was sent flying into a nearby snowdrift. The ork laughed, happily jogging over to finish off the poor human. Upon hitting the snow, Locke bit his tongue while his head lolled to the side.

The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth, saturating his senses and amplifying the trauma as his head swam. The pain caused him to pass out briefly; the white-hot dagger that was twisting inside his shoulder almost too much to bear while his chest felt like it was filled with broken glass. In that moment amongst his suffering he asked for the sweet relief of death. _I got one of 'em Dad… I did my best Mam… everything hurts… it hurts so much._ Tears began falling from his weary eyes at those glimpses of thought in his stuttering mind.

He clasped his hand round his seax's grip, readying himself for what was to come, but even that honour was denied to him as his fingers curled around nothing but snow. Terrified that he'd lost his precious blade, his right hand mindlessly groped around in the bitter ice, but the blade had vanished. Facing death and bereft of his seax, this truly was the ultimate disgrace _Fuckin' typical_. He lay there and grimaced seeing the ork come into view through his visor. The greenskin gave him a big toothy grin, it was a smile so awful that would have made children weep. The alien chuckled ominously while raising his makeshift club overhead; the slab of wicked looking metal held aloft at its zenith, just before it would be sent hurtling towards the Guardsman. _Bludgeoned to death by an ork…I supposed there's worse ways to die._ "SAHY GUDBYE 'UM-"the ork warrior was rudely interrupted by the crunch of bone followed by a wet slap, evocative of meat hitting a butcher's counter.

In a twirling flash of silver, a long bone-like hilt suddenly protruded from the side of its head. The dazed guardsman blinked, _that wasn't there before…was it?_ The ork was just as confused; a look of shear bewilderment plastered his green leathery face, his mouth slightly ajar while his eyes began darting in random directions. The hulking brute swayed slightly before crashing towards the ground. Locke, deeply confused by this turn of events, attempted to move out of the way but reacted too slow. He had only managed to roll over onto his front when the alien slammed into him. Yelping straight into the snow as the brute's shear weight bore down on him.

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 **Review Responses:**

 **Bio team2 – Hopefully those questions shall be answered in time.**

 **Muricamatthewx – Glad you liked it. I think the stitching scene and the nightmare scene are the best thing I've written so far although I must confess, I took a common prayer from the Bible and converted into a 40K format. Hope you enjoy this chapter as well.**

 **Disciple of Ember – A) and B) have been corrected, thank you. As for C) I think we'll have to agree to disagree. Obviously, Locke should just kill her. I mean that is the safest solution for himself but of course he's dealing with a few things at the moment so he can't bring himself to do it. Bringing her with him is also not a good choice as that would require him to cut the ties around her legs and as we all know Eldar are pretty dangerous, so that isn't a good idea. In the end he's decided to just leave her and hope that she'll go her own way. Is that a smart decision? Absolutely not. Will it have consequences? Definitely.**

 **Rogal Dorn – I'll take that as a compliment.**

 **Orakle – What is dead may never die. On a more serious note, I never left, I just have a lot on my plate unfortunately.**

 **John Legend – I've already addressed a few of these points in the "Disciple of Ember Review". Anyway, he didn't exactly give her weapons back to her, she still has to free herself first which isn't easy. I agree with you on Locke, he's a bit too nice. That is why, I've gone back and redone the last part of Chapter 7 to hopefully make him a bit greyer as a character. I did try to make it dumb luck, if it were not for the timely intervention of that portal, Locke would be dead. I might have to revisit Chapter 6 and make this more obvious. Thank you too for taking the time to leave an in-depth review. Unfortunately, I have no idea what's causing that bug, sorry.**

 **Sonic – Very good.**

 **Guest – You'll just have to find out but given she's relatively young (for an Eldar) and from a Craftworld, that's a pretty big hint.**

 **Guest – Answered in previous comment.**

 **York52 – No she does not. Hmmm, that does sound intriguing but at the moment I have a slightly different idea for the Artefact.**

 **Josephate – Thank you, I shall endeavour to keep it going (when I have the time)**

 **Shadowfire12 – You'll just have to wait and see what happens.**

 **Kargan3033 – Thank you very much for your kind words. Hopefully this chapter will be able to answer that question of yours.**

 **LordSolarMathius – Glad you like it. I unfortunately will have to disappoint you on the update schedule, my free time is often taken up by other things, but I am trying to make room for writing I assure you.**

 **Guest – Answered in a previous comment.**

 **LordSolarMathius – I agree on your perspective of the lore.**

 **Thesunofshadow – Hopefully this chapter will suffice…for now.**

 **Guest – Sorry, I'll do my best.**

 **FuckHorus – Oh I'm sure she will. Although remember it isn't his notebook, it's his sister's. Cora is the artist of the family, not Locke.**

 **MrDodo – Ahhhhhh Tomas Locke, you are a bold one *cough* *cough*.**

 **Inquisition – Cheers mate, happy you're enjoying. Glad you like the main character; you have no idea how happy I am with the praise you've given me. Evidently I must be doing something right. I based his personality and of those in the 195** **th** **on the stereotypical Anglo-Celtic national character; primarily Northern England and Scotland. As for his speech patterns, I took a lot of inspiration from many conversations I've had with my friends and colleagues over the years.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Here is Chapter 9 as promised, this'll be my fastest upload to date. Some of you maybe wondering why I never bothered to do a description of the main characters up to this point. This is because I wanted it to be natural, i.e from a different character's perspective rather than a disembodied narrator.**

 **Song of the day: To Glory - Two Steps from Hell**

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 **Chapter 9 - Alliance of Necessity**

Aristriel looked on from across the field at the fallen foe. It had been a long throw, a very long throw in fact but the spirit of Kaela Mensha Khaine had evidently blessed her efforts and guided the dagger's journey. A small smile spread across her face behind her banshee mask; pleased at her display of marksmanship. _That mon'keigh is mine and mine alone._ For a while now she had been shadowing the human's progress and in a masterstroke of both stealth and speed, she had managed to get in front of him. The Howling Banshee's eagerness to face the mon'keigh again had mounted as she had watched the human's retreat from the hill. Originally, Aristriel had hoped to ambush him once he neared her position but the appearance of the greenskin menace had changed matters.

Approaching the oncoming orks had been relatively simple, her bone white armour blended in perfectly with the wintry countryside with only the bright red crest giving her away. Even so, the orks were entirely absorbed in their pursuit allowing Aristriel to get absurdly close. The Eldar crept up to a short and rickety stone wall that was within striking distance of the enemy. Sensing the time was right she launched her attack, hitting them directly in their flank.

Aristriel unsheathed one of her daggers, flipped it in her hand so that the wickedly sharp blade rested in her gloved hand. For several moments she relished the perfect balance and supreme craftsmanship wrought into the wraith bone dagger. _Fly true, strike hard._ With her blade sanctified, she threw and immediately followed the dagger; leaping over the wall to reveal herself. In response to the untimely death of their fallen comrade, the orks turned their attention to the newcomer who had so offensively interrupted their foray. For a brief moment the greenskin's registered nought but surprise at the sudden appearance on their right flank, but it didn't take them long to react. "KNOIFE EARS! GET 'EM!" Shouted one of the larger brutes, quickly followed by numerous other unintelligible shouts.

Aristriel watched as the orks changed their direction and began to charge towards her, their weapons held at the ready while those with primitive projectile weapons began firing aimlessly. In response to the incoming fire, she twirled and danced amongst the shots falling around her. The orks were badly strung out and with the disadvantage of the deep snow slowing their progress they would be unlikely to group up anytime soon. Aristriel on the other hand was not affected by the cloying slush as her nimble feet padded comfortably on top of the icy surface. From the ork's perspective, she was a blur moving across what would eventually become a blood-soaked field, her powering graceful legs kicking up a swirling veil of frost behind her.

The first ork she came to foolishly swung at her like a lumberjack chopping at a tree. _All brawn and no finesse, pathetic._ However, Aristriel, like most Eldar, was far more mobile than any sapling. She didn't even bother trying to block or parry the attack, instead choosing to leap over the axe's arc and bring her shimmering power sword straight down into the monster's neck. Her steel bit deep; green flesh and muscle parted pitifully before her ancestral blade; triggering a thick jet of blood to spurt out of the ork's collar like a burst drainpipe. Within a few seconds the groaning savage was on his knees while his head hung woefully from his neck by a mere stand of sinew. His last glimpses of life were that of an upside-down world that gradually turned red.

Aristriel landed elegantly and carried onto her next opponent without breaking stride nor looking back to make sure the ork was dead. Her next opponent wielded an axe and a primitive pistol. She got within a dozen paces of him when he tossed his axe, childishly laughing as he did so. Aristriel responded by deflecting the aerial cleaver, sending the foul weapon wide where it buried itself upright in the freezing ice. Seeing this, the ork brought up his firearm and fired haphazardly. Expertly dodging his shots; the Howling Banshee flung herself from side to side.

Once she judged the distance close enough she rolled forwards so that she ended up underneath the ork's pistol. Righting herself instantly and with a quick flick of her blade, she sliced off the ork's arm. The green savage howled in pain as his severed arm spewed his lifeblood all over the ground whilst he hopelessly tried to clout the banshee with his one good limb. Aristriel dropped low, evaded the clumsy attack and spun with her sword extended.

As she swirled around, her outside foot caught the top layer of snow. Ice crystals were sprayed skyward and glittered in the sunlight while her sword sliced through the greenskin's stomach all the way to its spine: spraying crimson fluid in a wide arc. Not realising that he had been cut in half, the greenskin flung another hopeless jab at the banshee. The Eldar comically responded by cutting his remaining arm off at the elbow. Defeated: the ork slumped dead to the floor, his upper body separating from his lower half as he collapsed.

Aristriel swiftly turned her attention to the remaining orks who had now grouped up into a somewhat cohesive force. Although, after witnessing the impressive speed in which she dispatched their comrades, they stopped just short leaving a hundred paces between them and her. Taking advantage of this lull, she analysed the opposing force; eight of the dumb brutes faced her with a mixture of crude melee and ranged weapons.

The largest of the barbarians stamped forwards, raising his axe in her direction. "WAAAAAAAAAAHHHHGGGG!" boomed the greenskin, quickly joined by his vulgar brethren as they too took up the war cry. Allowing their violent zealotry to invigorate them; they stampeded towards her, their eyes grinning with the joys of battle. Aristriel quickly decided that the priority should be those who carried ranged weapons. Virtually as if they heard her thoughts, the booming crack of firearms soon filled the air as the greenskins hefting their primitive projectile weapons unleashed their firepower.

Puffs of snow were kicked up by the impact of the orkish rounds all around her, many getting uncomfortably close. A lucky hit from an ork SMG struck her left pauldron, cracking one of the precious gems that adorned her armour. This insult could not be left unanswered; fury raged inside her, begging to be released from the cage in which her passions dwelt. Not allowing herself to become reckless at this crucial moment, cold discipline supported by her emotion nullifying war mask stood strong and quickly snuffed out this fiery internal rebellion.

It became obvious at this distance that even the orks would find it difficult to miss her. Aristriel darting this way and that, understood that this hail of lead could not continue if she was to prove triumphant. Regardless of the missiles, she impulsively rushed ahead, waiting for the right moment to let loose the infamous banshee scream. _They will only remain stunned for a few moments; I must not waste this chance. Isha preserve me._

Time started to slow as the adrenaline began pumping inexorably through her veins while her heart hammered inside her chest. As soon as she saw the individual drops of spittle flying from the closest greenskin's mouth, she deemed the time right. A loud high-pitched scream escaped from her respirator and reverberated across the land. The audio amplifiers in her mask converted the ear-splitting screech into a weapon in its own right; the sonic explosion smacking into the assailing greenskins whose charge immediately disintegrated under its effect.

The deafening shriek caused many of the attacking greenskins to collapse to the floor ineffectually clutching their meaty paws around their ears in an effort to drown out the noise. Those that miraculously remained standing were left completely paralysed; their brains rendered temporarily inoperable. With her opponents either on their knees or stunned into inactivity, Aristriel wasted no time in quickly dispatching the nearest ork warriors.

Her sword became a blur as she spun it in her hand; slicing, stabbing and impaling any who might stand before her. Not before long the blade glowed a frightening red hue at the accumulated blood slathering its fine surface. It was only after several vital moments that the greenskins started to recover but the banshee scream had already done its work; only five of the beasts were left to face her.

A recently recuperated ork tried to bring his oversized pistol to bear on the unstoppable banshee. Aristriel automatically released her remaining dagger from its sheath and let fly; sending it whirling into the green beast's cranium. The airborne blade impacted just above the greenskin's stout nose with a sickening crunch. Several heartbeats passed as she confirmed the beast's death. _four left_. There would be no time to celebrate however, as the air around her suddenly stilled; her eyebrows raised in realisation and instinctively side-stepped as an axe swept through the spot she had only recently vacated. Aristriel turned to meet her new attacker and swiftly launched a powerful kick towards the greenskin's sternum before he could swing his axe again. The ork batted her aside with his metal fist, flinging her into the snow like a ragdoll.

Nonetheless, Aristriel, Agile as a feline, twisted mid-air and landed splayed out: perfectly balanced on her legs and left hand while her sword arm was raised high. Her flawless touchdown infuriated the ork fuelling his reckless advance towards her. Sensing another attack from behind, she rolled to her right as an axe buried itself in the ground.

Whipping round with her blade, she intuitively carved through the meat of the interfering attacker's leg. The beast bellowed in bestial rage as he toppled over backwards. As her original assailant drew closer, Aristriel in an incredible feat sprang onto the falling greenskin's chest and used him as a makeshift springboard and launched herself towards the other hulking monster.

Once again the greenskin tried to smash her aside, this time with his axe but utterly miscalculated the speed with which the banshee sailed through the air. The ork shuddered violently as the Eldar's sword impaled him, the glowing blade cutting through epidermis, muscles and sinew before finally puncturing his fungal heart and exiting out his back. _Two left_.

Movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention; an ork gunner groggily rose to his feet and now levelled his weapon towards her. Thinking quickly, she pivoted the skewered greenskin towards the gunner to act as an impromptu shield. With just seconds to spare, the barely living ork instantly began writhing underneath the dense enfilade of fire as great gouges of fungoid flesh were torn out of him.

After a few tense moments of withering gunfire, the hail of shot was abruptly silenced with a loud click. _You're all out._ Recognising the opportunity, she summarily ripped her power sword upwards through the dead beast's chest in a gruesome spectacle. The bullet-ridden ork slumped to the icy floor, allowing the Eldar to march menacingly towards the now panicking greenskin. The ork gunner fumbled around, hastily trying to replace the empty cartridge with a fresh one but it was far too late. As he looked up he saw the terrifying image of a Howling banshee through his cumbersome goggles. It would be the last thing he would see as the crown of his head was dutifully loped off and sent careening through the air in a fireworks display of brain matter and bloodshed.

"OI KNOIFE EARS!" Shouted the last remaining greenskin. Aristriel huffing great clouds of vapour turned on her heels to face the green savage. "LUKS LOIKE ITZ JUST YOU AN' ME!" rumbled the ork, jets of steam blowing out of his flaring nose and mouth. In either of his hands were two great slabs of vicious metal, crudely machined into the shape of axes. She took a moment to assess his appearance: he was by far the largest of the mon'keigh's hunters.

His face was a myriad of old scars, one of which ran diagonally across his face and ended in an eye patch. Presumably whatever had given him that injury must have taken his eye. Judging by his size and battle injuries it was obvious he was experienced in matters of combat. She would have to be cautious and pay close attention to his movements.

It seemed he took a moment to do the same to her, barring his massive canines and snarling unintelligible insults in his piggish tongue. Aristriel advanced slowly, her sword held in a low guard. The greenskin had no interest in reciprocating this motion; he flexed his hardened muscles while spinning his axes in an impressive display. "QUIT PRANSIN' ABOUT KNOIFE EARS AND FOIGHT!" he growled as he began the wind up to his attack.

The ork struck in a quick flurry of overwhelming strikes, catching the Eldar completely by surprise. She only just managed to deflect the attacks; sparks flew as the orkish axe smashed against the aeldari blade sending Aristriel reeling backwards. Her poor limb felt like it had been rent asunder at the sheer weight of the blows; pain lancing along the extent of her sword arm and shoulder. The ork pressed the advantage, giving the banshee no time to recover her balance as he hammered her again and again. Aristriel, now on the backfoot, could only respond by blocking the unceasing onslaught.

The crushing blows continued to rain down from either side, forcing the banshee to keep switching her guard to maintain her defence thus leaving her no quarter to either evade or retreat from the vicious barbarian. Every barred attack pulverised her upper body; chipping away at her strength and resolve: her arms groaned in pain as the intensity of the ork's attacks showed no sign of letting up. In this battle of attrition, the greenskin's use of brute force would inevitably lead to her demise.

In between the clash of steel, Aristriel noticed the greenskin's impatience and growing arrogance as he sought to overpower her with his superior strength. _One must remind themselves that over confidence is a slow and insidious killer_. Chimed the memory of her old blade master. Using the ork's pride to her advantage, she feigned defeat by dropping to one knee. Seeing this sure sign of victory, the barbarian grouped his two axes together, combining them into one large block of honed metal. Like a spring released from tension, the devastating blow came hurtling towards the bowed banshee. "I GOT YA KNOW KNOI-" the satisfaction on the greenskin's gristly visage vanished as his combined choppa's struck nought but air.

The supposedly beaten Eldar had propelled herself high towards the heavens in the blink of an eye, just as the enemy's weapons struck the spot she had recently occupied. Aristriel soared backwards in a glorious back flip that would have put the finest of the Imperium's gymnasts to shame. Landing smartly in a crouch amongst the fallen savages, she looked back towards her bewildered and livid opponent. "OI, DATS CHEATIN'! YA KNOIFE EARED GIT!" He called after her, his expression screwed up into one of deep loathing and oddly enough, betrayal. Ignoring the greenskin's woes, she sighted her previously thrown dagger standing proudly of an ork's forehead.

The one-eyed ork deprived of his prize and furious at the Eldar's deception, immediately tramped towards her, yelling insults at her dishonourable conduct in the way only an ork can manage. Without a second thought she wrenched the blade free from its bloody sheath with a horrible squelching noise. Aristriel stood proud; power sword held in her right hand while the dagger, held in the reverse fashion, was in the other. _Time to finish this._ Without further ado, she sprinted vigorously towards the hulking barbarian and immediately commenced her assault.

As the power sword flew towards the ork's neck, it took all his skill to deflect the Eldar's blade but before he could counterattack; the banshee struck again and then again. Aristriel became a whirlwind of sharpened shimmering steel that thrust and swung at him in a blur that was too fast to follow. This time it was the ork's turn to be put on the back foot as beads of sweat sprouted from his brow due to the intense pressure of her assault.

Doubt began to grow inside him, forcing the cogs in his simple mycological brain to turn as they adapted to the situation. It did not take long for a brilliantly orky idea to surface. The greenskin, much to the Eldar's amazement, opened himself up as he swung his left axe towards the banshee's right shoulder. Aristriel in hasty response, immediately converted her swing to counter her opponent's blow. The Eldar power sword flickered as it bisected the ork's axe: separating the haft from the axe head.

The savage's face fell instantly at the destruction of one of his prized weapons. However, before he could react, Aristriel lunged her blade directly into the greenskin's stomach. The ork sneered in pain, "DAT DA BEST YA GOT!" He cried through clenched teeth before delivering an almighty headbutt that dropped the Eldar to the ground. Aristriel's vision blacked out momentarily causing her hand to release the power sword which remained impaled in the ork's belly.

The greenskin ignored the Aeldari blade speared through his gut and immediately began trying to crush the lying banshee with his giant foot. The underside of the ork's boot filled the view through her visor as it rushed down towards her. Only at the last minute when her mind finally caught up with her predicament did she roll away; leaving the greenskin's right foot to harmlessly slam into the cold white powder.

The one-eyed greenskin disappointed at the unsquashed Eldar, stomped his boot towards her again. This time though, in retaliation she stabbed her dagger straight into the ball of his foot. The ork's foot reversed its rapid descent instantaneously as its owner roared in agony towards the sky, balancing on one leg.

Taking the initiative, Aristriel slashed the hamstrings of the greenskin's only supporting leg with her wraith bone blade. Rivers of blood ran from the brute's ankle, pooling around the sole of his boot. With the muscles in his leg severed, the once proud barbarian warrior collapsed to the ground with a frightful clap of meat hitting frozen ice. Rapidly moving out of the way Aristriel regained her footing. One-eye had managed to right himself but was left on one knee, unable to rise. Although that didn't mean he would go quietly to whatever hell awaited him.

He swung clumsily at her with his remaining axe, hoping to catch her off guard. Aristriel easily ducked beneath the swing and grabbed hold of her power sword: still jutting out of the ork's abdomen. The horrible sucking noise of flesh lingered in the air as the Howling Banshee extracted the blade from her crippled opponent. The close proximity to the Eldar inspired the savage's last bitter attempt to gain victory. His head lunged forward in an effort to chomp at her sword arm but the tightening tendons in his neck telegraphed the move and Aristriel pre-emptively avoided him.

Realising his failure, the ork's eyes grew wide in horror; the possibility of defeat drip fed its way into his tiny mind. The Eldar proved him right as she swung her blood-flecked power sword. The blade cut easily through his defensively raised axe and straight into his stocky neck; beheading him instantly in a shower of gore. The banshee along with the surrounding area was splashed by the crimson fluid; rivulets of blood flowed down her body, turning her already unnerving appearance into something truly terrifying.

The Eldar, nevertheless, took no notice of the grime that covered her armour as she stood there for a few moments, basking in the brilliant sunshine which punctuated her triumph. Her heart still pulsated incessantly while vapour poured out of her respirator like the exhaust of one of the mon'keigh's combustion engines. Scanning her eyes over the battlefield, she noticed that one of the greenskins was trying to crawl away; leaving a red trail through the snow. She wandered over to him before nonchalantly planting and then twisting the blade through the greenskin's spine. The ork's back arched while his outstretched arm, shuddered and finally went limp.

With all of the barbarians taken care of, _well the green ones anyway_ , Aristriel turned back to her primary task. It was not hard to spot the human; who was urgently trying to extricate himself from the greenskin corpse that trapped him in a prison of flesh and ice. Not wanting to alert him, she noiselessly made her way over to the caught mon'keigh, enjoying the irony of their reversed fortunes. As she got closer, Aristriel saw that only his head and right arm had escaped from the ork's death throes. The guardsman was frantically reaching for his short sword but to little success as his stretched-out fingers barely tickled the blade's pommel.

Another small smile graced her masked face at the culmination of this satisfying moment: the recovery of the Omnicron and the death of this most troublesome human. Aristriel lowered her power sword so that it sat uncomfortably close to the mon'keigh's neck. The human went still instantly at the light buzzing sound of her blade. Savouring the moment, she held the blade there; indifferently enjoying the human's discomfort. However, of the emotions that radiated off him, she was surprised and more than a little irritated to find that fear was not chief among them.

Luckily for the guardsman a thin wisp of steam caught the eyes of the banshee. Inclining her head to get a better look at this mystery, Aristriel caught sight of something far more interesting than the trapped mon'keigh at her feet. Scarcely a few yards away was a melted crater of snow with the Omnicron proudly at its centre.

Her gaze loitered on the artefact and immediately started to feel nauseous as twisted images and incomprehensible words filled her mind. Aristriel screwed her eyes shut, in an attempt to block out the sick and corrupted thoughts. Remembering the wraith glass box that Farseer Ullaryne had given her, Aristriel's hand shot down to her side pouch where the fragile container was kept.

Her hand probed the inside of the pocket but found nothing, at first she thought that she had been mistaken and quickly began checking the other pouches around her belt, but they too yielded nothing. Refusing to accept what was blatantly becoming clear, she checked the original pouch once more. This time her hand brushed against something. Lifting the item to her helmeted face, Aristriel was confronted by a single broken shard of wraith glass.

Her world fell apart in a split-second: she had travelled so far; she had done so much and for all that to lead to failure. That box was crucial to her mission, it would be impossible to go on without it. Aristriel bowed her head while pressing her hands to her masked face; horror and panic consuming her. _I-I have failed Alaitoc. I have f-failed again…Asuryan…Isha…Lileath please forgive me, I beg of you._ The banshee mask was a welcome relief, hiding her distress from the human as well as quashing most of her emotions.

Even so, a few tears successfully escaped her eyes as they rolled down her pale face. The darker parts of her mind, as if drawn to her distress like carrion crows to a dead carcass; made themselves known as they delighted in the fiasco that beset her and refused to be silent. Self-destructive thoughts lashed out at her; pouring salt into her fresh emotional wounds. _You could not protect your family and now you forsake the task given to you because of your stupidity and mindlessness. A task given to you by the upper echelons of Alaitoc no less. Has there ever been an Aeldari as wretched as the likes of you?_

Just when she thought she might crack, a well of courage surged within her. _No! I have not failed yet! Where there is the will to carry on, there is a way to reach journey's end._ At this her mind became a tornado of self-castigation and random ideas. There was still hope, there was always hope. _I cannot pick up the artefact, Farseer Ullaryne made that perfectly clear. Maybe I could leave it here, contact Alaitoc and recover it at a later date? But how would I be able to find it again? And what if some other mon'keigh find it?_ After a brief analysis, that idea was disregarded.

 _I could always stay near it and wait for Eldar forces? But how would they find me though, I could be on the far side of the galaxy for all they now, it would be like trying to find a diamond in a planet sized desert._ Discounting this idea, her mind absently shifted to the ensnared guardsman at her feet. _What about the human? He can carry it; I have seen him holding it. It makes no sense though, he does not have the psychic gift, he should not be able to do so. Unless of course… he is an agent of the great enemy?_ Examining this proposal, her head slowly began to turn until it fixed on the prone guardsman.

The mon'keigh suddenly noticing the banshee's attention squarely fixed on him, frantically redoubled his efforts to reach his short sword. This hope was denied to him as the blade was carefully nudged out of reach by Aristriel's finely adorned boot. She knelt down in front of him and using both her hands; began tearing off his head covering without pause. As expected, he fought her every step of the way; thrashing his head and constantly trying to wriggle out her grasp. There was no escape however and soon she found the chin strap. With a resounding click, his helmet and visor came away in her hands and were blatantly tossed aside.

His resistance seemed to crumble at this and removing his rebreather was far simpler even though he did try to bite her gloved hand that strayed too close to his mouth. _What is it with mon'keigh and biting?_ She asked herself before giving the human a hard slap that sent his head ringing like a bell. Knocked into brief submission, Aristriel clutched the human's jaw and raised his head so that she could look directly into his eyes.

A young human face stared defiantly back at her; his short dark brown hair, matted with sweat and melted snow, stood in strong contrast to his round pale face. Aristriel ignored his expression as her eyes swept over his face, drinking in the details and committing them to memory. A Grecian nose complimented by high cheek bones and a strong jawline made him altogether not unpleasant to look at, surmised the Eldar warrior.

Still she could not help but notice the weathered lines outlining his otherwise youthful face. Clearly, this erosion of innocence was the result of unending warfare and the ceaseless toil that accompanied it. This effect was only reinforced by the stubble that sprouted across his cheeks and lower face. _To have one's youth and vigour slowly leached from you by the unceasing demands of combat must truly be a terrible thing._ She queried absently.

Of all the mon'keigh's features, it was his eyes that were truly striking. The two piercing dark grey orbs that sat neatly beneath his brow were entirely transfixed onto the red lenses of her banshee mask. Aristriel had not expected the human's gaze to be as powerful as it was, it almost felt like his gaze punctured her various facades one by one to gaze into the heart of the blazing star that was her very soul. She stopped herself from shuddering and concentrated on the task at hand.

There was certainly an intelligence behind those eyes, but she could see no hint of corruption. Searching the emotions that exuded from him, she noted that the tell-tale signature of the great enemy was entirely absent. _My my, you truly are a perplexing mon'keigh._ Of course, this raised other questions about his supposed innate resistance to the artefact but Aristriel pushed them aside, for now at least. The dark pools of his eyes also revealed the not-so subtle weariness born out from the pain of loss; he had seen too much.

Satisfied of with the human's purity, she immediately released the human's head, allowing him to slump to the cold ground which earned her an insult in low gothic. _I know what must be done, I will ally myself to him, gain his trust and lead him into the hands of my Aeldari comrades. Principally he will act as nothing more than a beast of burden to carry the black stone and once the artefact is safely in the care of Alaitoc, I shall slit his throat._

With her plan laid out in her mind, she set to work levering the dead ork off of the crushed guardsman whilst ignoring his barbaric insults. Eventually, understanding what Aristriel was intending, the mon'keigh added his own strength as he pushed upwards. With their combined efforts, slowly but surely the greenskin's corpse was moved off him. Scrambling for freedom, the guardsman bolted for his short sword. Once reunited with his blade, he spun around to face Aristriel who had not moved from her position.

He aimed the point of the short sword towards her chest, in a clear defensive stance while he edged his way towards the fallen artefact, never once taking his eyes off her. Aware that she needed to get him on side, Aristriel retrieved her thrown dagger from the dead greenskin and sheathed all of her blades. Hoping that he would be able to recognise that she had no intentions to fight anymore. The mon'keigh however was preoccupied with retrieving his lost trinket. As soon as he reached the melted crater of snow, he darted down and plucked the Omnicron off the ground before pocketing it in one of his webbing pouches.

Satisfied that the artefact was safe, he focused on her once more. They were only a few paces apart and yet the human maintained his defensive stance, sword tip still pointing towards her in spite of her unarmed state. Aristriel began to wonder if this was a bad idea but was relieved when she saw him waver as uncertainty spread across his face.

Remembering that humans are illogical beings, quick to fright and easily roused to violence, she waited patiently whilst remaining utterly motionless. Sure enough, her patience paid off as the mon'keigh relented. Gradually he lowered his blade before finally sheathing it in his scabbard. Neither of them moved as they both exhaled thin puffs of vapour.

Aristriel moved first, deliberately offering her hand; a clear intention for a handshake. Another wave of uncertainty crossed the human's worried face as he cast his eyes around the fallen greenskins. _He knows what I'm capable of, I imagine he's having qualms with that abysmal dogma so many of his kind adhere to_. Shivering in the cold, the human's resolve caved-in as all his religious misgivings were briefly pushed aside. He reached forwards to shake her hand. However, at the last second, he retrieved his hand. Aristriel bristled at this, her face creasing into a frown while her muscles tensed at the possibility of violence. Her hand twitched, the slightest aggressive movement from the guardsman would be met with her power sword.

Nevertheless, her concerns were proved to be misplaced. The human on retracting his hand, spat into his open palm before reaching forwards to clasp a hand with hers. The Eldar confused by this weird custom failed to withdraw her hand in time. They clasped hands although she was left glowering behind her mask in disgust at this childish action but shook the mon'keigh's hand all the same. Secure in the knowledge that they had left hostilities behind them with the signing of their unwritten pact. Although at this point, neither of them knew where to go until the the rumble of engines that came echoing across the land decided for them.

In response, they immediatley moved off in the opposite direction, the human taking Aristriel's lead as they both left the blood soaked field behind and into a nearby copse of alien trees. Forced together by dire circumstances, they had formed an improvised alliance. An alliance that would very soon be put to the ultimate test.

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 **Review Responses:**

 **Malgrath – Well your sense of timing is truly impeccable.**

 **Look2019 – Glad you liked it.**

 **Shadowfire12 – Well I'm happy that you enjoyed the chapter, but I think if you're looking for a lots of gratuitous sex scenes then you're probably going to be disappointed. Who's to say that the ending won't be sad? This is 40k after all.**

 **Ateht – Nope, definitely not dead. I'd like to think that if I was forced to abandon the project that I'd have the common decency to create an announcement. The Emperor certainly does work in mysterious ways.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Here we are then; over 50,000 words and I've finally got the story where I wanted it. I'm starting to think this is may take a while. Now, the dream scene in this chapter was inspired by an amazing bit of artwork which I unfortunately can no longer find. The picture was of a silhouetted figure with a top hat and a cat at his side gazing through long vertical windows into red tinged space. If anyone knows the picture I'm talking about please send me the link either via DM or in the review section. Not much of Aristriel this time around but there should be quite a bit next chapter (Hopefully).**

 **Song of the day: Reflection – David Edwards**

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 **Chapter 10 – Soldier's Trinity**

 _Breathe lad, remember to breathe! In an' out, that's the way!_ The advice of a long dead sergeant sounded off from his memory. Locke panted with every step, his face bright red from the exertion. _By the Golden Throne this alien can shift… lot's o' practice from running away I'll bet_. Ever since they had set aside their differences, their journey had known no end. Locke had thought that his morning expedition had been hard work, but he was starting to become nostalgic for what now seemed like a leisurely stroll compared to the blistering pace that this alien had set.

He understood the reason of course, the idea of fighting more orks didn't sit well with him, considering the state of him and the fact that his only weapon was a short sword. It seemed like the alien was even less interested in another savage confrontation judging by her speed and keen alertness. The sky above had turned to match his bleak mood; what had once been a glorious sunny day was now beginning to imitate the previous. Dark grey clouds reclaimed the sky and within a few hours of the overcast setting in, a fresh wave of snow came flooding down from the heavens to reinforce the already deep white blanket that covered everything.

Shaking off the deposits of snows that tiringly built up on any roughly horizontal surface, Locke continued to wade through a particularly deep snowbank; his limbs bemoaning the juxtaposed sensation of being both chilled by the ice's bitter freeze and burning from the physical effort of ploughing onwards. He wanted to stop, by the God-Emperor and his golden shiny throne did he want to stop. To simply lie down and let the ice take him. A fantasy of course but every hour of this forced march that ticked by, it became ever more fanciful.

His vision was locked to the ground only a few paces ahead, focusing all his attention on keeping one foot in front of the other. Glancing further along the line of march, he saw the Eldar padding deftly across the surface of the snow; completely weightless, her shallow footprints practically invisible. _How the hell does she do that?_ Thought Locke, a tinge of jealousy colouring his query.

Unlike the beleaguered guardsman who trooped mindlessly forwards: knee deep in snow, the Eldar strode confidently ahead barely seeming tired at all. Her head was on a constant swivel searching for any tell-tale sign of movement through the swirling silver gloom. Periodically the banshee would remember the trailing soldier as she halted and turned to watch his painfully laborious progress.

Other than a few sharp metallic hisses and clicks, she never uttered a word. Nonetheless, her body language said everything that she refused to. Being stuck with her for almost half a day, Locke could tell she was unsympathetic to his plight. Much as he hated to admit it, if he were her, he'd probably be chastising him for his sluggish pace as well. Still, it wasn't pleasant knowing that you were dead weight.

At the start of their united journey, Locke had tried to match her speed but inevitably fell behind when his already fatigued muscles failed to meet the demands placed upon them. Now, just as he was making his away to the top of the ridgeline, his right leg cramped up, finally seizing up after so long. It stopped him dead in his tracks as he flopped over, cursing into the snow. It looks like he'd be able to live out that fantasy after all.

The alien, hearing his distress turned about instantly and moved to assist the tired guardsman. She offered her hand, but Locke batted it aside, "get the hell off me! I'm fine!" He growled through shivering breaths. She huffed in annoyance at his foolish response but made no move to assist him further. Understanding his tone and satisfied that he was still able-bodied, she turned about and left him floundering in the ocean of white powder whilst she continued where she'd left off. Cursing once more at his leg through gritted teeth, he watched as she strode on without him; a mixture of shame and anger blossoming within him.

His clothes were now even more sodden than before thanks to the melted snow. _Another bloody thing I've got to deal with!_ The pain in his leg was immense, like it was being crushed in a vice that eased off the pressure every few seconds to only pile it back on within an instant. The only thing he could do was wait for the cramp to run its course, all the time he lay there with his gloved hands splayed out in front of him from where they'd arrested his fall. His gloves provided little warmth in the parasitic cold of this place and he could only imagine what shade of blue his hands had taken on as they sunk further into the icy quagmire.

In the end the cramping pain in his leg subsided or at the very least became more bearable. Sighing at the endless toil of it all, he rose unsteadily back to his feet. Trailing his gaze to the top of the ridgeline, there was the xeno staring back at him, tapping her foot in irritation at his tardiness. Locke hated how the alien made him feel like a burden; an infant to be shepherded. The entire time they'd been travelling she had always been the one in the lead and had always been the one to dictate their heading.

Their little alliance was only a few hours old and already he was beginning to regret it, there was something deeply wrong about a human fraternizing with a xeno. The dictats of the Imperial Creed had crossed his mind a few times on the march to which he could only offer up a few flimsy excuses.

S _hould have killed her when I had the chance._ His thoughts returned back to the seax hanging faithfully at his side; the image of it being thrust into her back entered his mind. However, before the idea could truly take shape it was rapidly quashed by a greater realisation. _No… much as I hate to admit it, I'd be dead if not for that xeno. She owed me and returned the favour in kind; obviously she must have some concept of honour after all. Besides, I made my choice. I'm stuck with her for now and I'll just have to deal with it._

Carrying his pack, he ignored the straps digging into his raw shoulders as he slowly pushed his way up the hill to join the Eldar who was waiting patiently at the summit. Upon reaching the top, Locke exhaled a large cloud of vapour into the cold air as he looked out over yet another wintry valley. "I'm beginning to think this place is nothing but hills and shit loads of snow." He joked breathlessly with little humour in his voice. The Eldar flinched as he spoke but remained silent as always; either she had no sense of humour or had no idea what he'd even said. Locke reckoned it was probably both.

Glancing sideways at her, Locke saw that she was entirely preoccupied with the coming darkness. The sun was beginning to set as the last vestiges of light streaming through the clouds faded. Shelter was fast becoming the number one priority and even more concerning was the distant roar of ork war trucks steadily drawing closer once more. For hours now, the pair of them had been evading the greenskins.

At numerous points it seemed like they'd managed to successfully shake off their pursuers but inexplicably they'd soon pick up their trail again. There had been two occasions when the hunter and hunted at strayed within a hair's breadth of each other. In both instances, it was only their quick thinking that proved to be their saving grace.

The first time, Locke sensing the foe had pre-emptively hid under extensive root system of a withered old fungal tree with only seconds to spare as a troop of greenskin vehicles rumbled past. Where the banshee went, he couldn't say. The second time, a band of greenskins, along with a pack of squigs who appeared to act as sniffer dogs, tracked them to a nearby river.

Acting swiftly, the pair of them took shelter beneath the icy overhang of the riverbank while the freezing water lapped around their waists. Luckily for them, the river obscured their scent and not before long the violent aliens had moved off again, shouting in their usual way as they did so. He had both thanked the God-Emperor and whatever twisted deity who'd created the orks for giving them such short attention spans. Any longer in there and hypothermia would have been all but guaranteed.

Locke was snapped from his thoughts by the tap of an alien finger on his uninjured shoulder, the guardsman responding to her touch, looked into those red lenses of her bullet shaped helmet. Satisfied that she had his attention, she pointed to a nearby thicket of woodland. The guardsman nodded acknowledging their new destination, _hopefully we can stop there before night draws in._ Making their way down the gentle slope was a simple matter, the incline lent power to Locke's weary legs and it did not take long before they met the icy forests embrace.

Thankful to be in the protection of the woods, they left the snow-covered fields, hills and desolate villages behind; the snowy vegetation engulfing them both. Locke cautiously navigated his way through the wild foliage, glimpsing the last streams of sunlight of the day through the patchy canopy. The Eldar was almost immediately lost to sight, as she prowled on ahead; ghostly silent with all the speed of a typhoon. It struck Locke that this had been the first time since they'd fought the first group of greenskins that he had started to relax. He chuckled at himself for naively assuming that the end of the day's march was tantalisingly close. The smell of dense vegetation mixed with the sharp cold of the air was certainly nostalgic at the very least. The trees and plants while mostly alien to him were reminiscent of the forests back on Narvos that the guardsman had fondly explored in his childhood.

The sounds of the woods filled his ears; so familiar and so different all at the same time. Odd creatures going about their daily business of survival: chirping and cawing as they went, the snapping of twigs, the rustle of the undergrowth and the crunch of his boots. Locke quickly settled into a rhythm and soon began to explore this new interesting environment. There were more of the strange upturned pinecone like trees that were mixed in with the more recognisable Terran type of vegetation as well as the sprawling fungal plants. Crossing over to one of the fungal trees, he laid his palm on it's ancient trunk, patting it like it were an old friend. "Never got the chance but could you thank your mate for me, for keeping those orks off my back. There's a good lad." He whispered affectionately. _Talking to plants, I've gone as mad as old nan._ Walking away into the wood, he left the fungal tree to continue its tireless vigil, forever on the lookout for other weary travellers in need of a keen hiding place.

Further along the forestry path, one of the upturned pinecone trees caught his attention. With the imminent danger behind them, Locke finally gave into his curiosity and inspected the grand specimen. The upturned pinecone tree dominated the small clearing that it found itself in much the same way a monarch is the centre of attention at their court. Yet despite its regal position it was dwarfed by other types of trees that stretched high up towards the sky.

On closer inspection, he found that the hardened exterior of the tree's shell was used to protect the plant's soft innards; opening and closing based upon the amount of light or in the presence of certain herbivores. Locke discovered this at his peril. Touching the armoured bark and reaching inside to peer at the plant's inner workings triggered an instinctive reflex. The shell, irritated by this hominid intruder clambering over it's fine exterior unexpectedly started to close up around itself in a protective cocoon that almost took his right arm off at the elbow.

Yelping in surprise as he felt the tightening pressure on his arm, he franticly pushed himself away from the offending tree to land on his backside, his endangered limb clutched defensively to his chest. The Eldar, ever the faithful guardian, reappeared from her own exploration to investigate his call. She found him sheepishly brushing off a mixture of dirt, snow and twigs from his fatigues.

Locke feeling embarrassed tried to put on a false air of nonchalance which he knew the alien saw right through. "Just… uh… checking up on the local plantlife." He explained as he picked out a clump of moss from his pocket. He could have sworn he heard a metallic snort resonate from her war mask but with all the sounds of the woodland it was impossible to tell. She gestured to follow and Locke shouldering his kit dawdled on after her.

After a brief hike through the denser parts of the forest, they arrived at another one of the upturned pinecone trees although this one was far broader and far more withered. What was strange was that unlike the previous one Locke had the misfortune to come across, this one was closed from the offset and by the look of dormant vines and moss that grew over its barky bulk, it had been shut for some time. The banshee, keen to reveal her discovery, pulled up a ragged curtain of green moss. Always direct in her manner, she pointed at a partially hidden hole at the base of the ancient specimen where presumably the roots met the stem.

One minute the Eldar was standing before it and the next she disappeared as she crawled inside the burrow. Hesitating slightly, Locke made to follow. He slid off his pack and copying her crouched stance, carefully wedged himself into the gap. The mossy insides where damp with melted snow and there was a distinct smell of dampness. After a metre or so of stooping low along the tiny cavern, Locke spied another opening that led upwards. He soon discovered that the pinecone tree was completely hollow which seemed highly odd. Although as Locke thought it through, he speculated that the pinecone tree they now found themselves inside was dead; the soft parts having rotted away long ago, leaving a smooth closed hollow shell.

It was nearly pitch-black inside the wilted behemoth which prompted the guardsman to retrieve his kit. Scooting round to give himself a better position, he accidently bumped into the alien warrior who was hidden in the murk. She instantly hissed her discontent, shoving him away. "Yeah, yeah… maybe bring a light with ya next time, bloody xeno." He whispered back as he readjusted his seating. Without further incident Locke pulled his precious pack and all that it contained up through the hole.

The xeno waited patiently as he sat down cross legged and began fumbling around inside his pack. His hand, wading through the sea of gear, eventually struck the lamp's handle. With the light source located, it was soon extricated from its synthetic domain and set up at his feet. With a click of a button, the light shone out and lit up the interior of the pinecone tree's husk. It was relatively cramped with not a great deal of space to lie down but at least the arched ceiling was high enough to allow both of them to stand up straight.

The inside of the withered interior was reasonably smooth although there were patches of fungus that Locke wisely decided to avoid. Their new little home was entirely enclosed except for the opening they'd entered through and a small hole at the point where the armoured bark petals intersected at the top of the narrowing ceiling. "Not a bad little place. Saves me putting up a basher." Said Locke gratefully. The banshee didn't respond as was her habit. With the interior illuminated, the Eldar immediately moved to the far side, directly opposite the guardsman. Once there she sat down and remained still; the red lenses of her mask boring holes into him.

To Locke's wary mind, it seemed that she regarded him in the same manner that children beheld never-before-seen animals on their first visit to their local zoo. The guardsman shuddered slightly at the unabashed observation and did his best to blot her presence out by busying himself with various small tasks. The Guard had a motto that was universal wherever it went: _My weapon, My equipment, Myself_. Seeing as his lasrifle was forever lost, he found himself for the first time skipping to the next checkpoint on the list.

In order to take his mind of the alien's unnerving gaze, he put his efforts into setting up his living area. With practised efficiency it took no more than a few minutes to complete. He'd laid out his foam mattress and sleeping bag as best as he could given the space, the thermal blanket and finally his pack which would act as his pillow. Not once did the xeno's scrutiny falter or turn away from the busy soldier, much to his notice. With his kit set up, his thoughts turned to his soaking wet trousers and smock; mercifully his shirt and combat shirt had remained reasonably dry.

As discretely as he could manage; he stripped off to his under garments, blushing somewhat as he laid the sodden clothing as well as his helmet and rebreather next to the lamp which doubled up as a heater. He went about this in hurried fashion, his frantic movements fuelled by both the cold and the intense glare of the indifferent alien.

The wet fatigues proved to be difficult to remove, clinging faithfully to their master's body. Grunting at the squelching material, it took an awful lot of tugging but eventually the sodden fabric relented and was ripped away. Locke, gathered up the soaking bundle in his arms and carefully laid them out across the smooth wooden floor of the plant's husk. Thereafter he retreated to his own corner and awkwardly bundled himself up inside his sleeping bag where a semblance of warmth and relief flooded into his legs which throbbed terribly from the day's physical activity.

Another curious aspect to the empty shell that they dwelt inside was that it insulated heat incredibly well. With two bodies living inside it, the temperature steadily rose until it was quite comfortable. Locke found that he didn't even need to use his thermal blanket over his sleeping bag due to the increased warmth of their humble abode. Sitting up against the pinecone tree's interior, he found himself inexorably facing the alien; his eyes drawn to the terrifying helmet and those dark red eye pieces under that harsh sneering brow. Inevitably he began to wonder what kind of eyes stared out from behind that helmet.

The effect of her war mask was made worse by the low lamp light which distorted her appearance slightly as the contrast between the raised parts of her head piece and its recesses increased. Locke, sick of the disturbing level of interest the alien displayed towards him decided to meet her gaze as he locked eyes with her. Imperial Guardsman and Howling Banshee stared each other down, with only a small space separating them, neither wanting to be the first to break eye contact.

How long they sat there in that standoff, Locke couldn't say. Though he loathed to do it, ultimately he gave in and looked away. He had other matters to attend to. The primary one being his shoulder which had started to ache unbearably. A downside of the warmth filtering into his being was that the sensation of feeling also returned to his body and unfortunately that meant the pain as well.

Ever the amateur surgeon, Locke stripped off his combat shirt and T-shirt to reveal the bandaging. Carefully, layer by layer, the guardsman removed the field dressing, terrified by what he might find. His wound had recieved a terrible knock when he had tackled that orc to the ground. Just as he feared, the crimson gash in his shoulder looked terrible, several of the stitches had either snapped or broken through the skin causing a degree of bleeding. Whereas before the wound was at least closed, now it was gaping in two areas.

Locke swore under his breath; the idea of another self-stitching sent shivers down his spine. _An experience I'd rather not repeat._ He had already begun to race through the different options on how to address the laceration in his shoulder when a bone-white armoured limb came into his field of vision. Shocked by this sudden intervention, he looked up to see that the banshee was now crouched in front of him inspecting his shoulder. The realisation that she had managed to move from her position with nary a sound shook Locke to his core, he would have to watch this alien even more closely than he had previously thought.

She tried to touch the area around the wide red slit in his shoulder but was forcibly pushed away by the guardsman's good arm. "You can sod off an all! Now get back over there!" He barked, while pointing to her chosen spot. The alien hissed her disapproval and for a second Locke thought she might persevere with her apparent attempts at first aid but after a brief hesitation she dutifully returned back to her place without a sound.

Exhausted by the journey and combat, Locke decided that it would best to leave his shoulder alone. Using another fresh bandage, he quickly retied his bindings. However, it still felt like a burning coal had been implanted inside his shoulder. There would be no respite from the pain. Sleep would not come easy tonight and so Locke with nothing left to do, did what all soldier do in such times. He daydreamed.

No matter what subject he pondered, his thoughts quickly turned back to the xeno who sat just across from him. Sitting bolt upright with her back pressed up against the wall, eyes fixed on the floor just in front which was a welcome change. The thought of going to sleep with this alien, what the Ecclesiarchy would call an abomination of the human form, only a few metres away only made him more nervous. At least beforehand she had been tied up with nowhere to go. Now she was armed and very much capable. Without meaning to, he recalled the stories told around the fire in the living room after a long day. His father would tell tales of lithe creatures appearing out of thin air, raiding and pillaging, stealing innocent folks from their beds before disappearing into the aether with not a twig or leaf out of place to mark their passing.

 _Is this all a trick? Is she just waiting for me to fall asleep so that she can spirit me away to Emperor-knows-where?_ The idea of being fooled by deceptive displays of comradeship infuriated Locke and ever so carefully, so as to not draw attention, he unclipped the scabbard of his seax from his webbing and drew it close. He clutched the sheathed sword to his chest, safe from the view inside his sleeping bag. Already he could imagine the feeling of the cold naked blade pressed against his skin which caused him to shiver involuntarily.

 _Try anything tonight xeno and I'll give you a proper Narvish welcome._ Those brave words rang hollow inside his own head as soon as he'd even thought of them. There would be no contest. Not only was her equipment vastly superior but her skills as a swordsman were so far removed from his own that she might as well have been legendary Sigismund himself. _Have you forgotten that you only beat her because of an accident?_ Sighing at acceptance of this fact, he placed the sword bundle to one side, embarrassed by his inner bravado although he consciously made sure to keep the blade within arm's reach. _You never know._

It seemed that there was nothing more that could be done and yet between the throbbing ache of his legs, the burning pain of his shoulder and his overactive mind; sleep at this moment in time seemed like an impossibility. In the end, he decided to beat the Eldar at her own game. He studied her in the same way she had done to him.

His eyes steadily moving from the red plume at the top of her war mask down to her feet. The alien wore what seemed like a black body suit that covered her all over with interlocking armour plates fastened over the top. Along with her helmet, all the cream coloured sections were festooned in beautiful gems and a myriad of symbols that Locke didn't recognise. She sat perfectly still, the only thing giving her away as being alive was the minute rise and fall of her armoured chest.

Despite what the Ecclesiarchy might say, there was something distinctly human about her kind and yet so distinctly alien at the same time. Try as he might to remind himself of her dangerousness, his wariness towards her declined. She certainly wasn't trustworthy but for the moment she wasn't a threat and so like the melting of the ice at the beginning of spring, so too did Locke's fears ebb away.

After what seemed like an hour of quiet surveillance and contemplation, he leaned over and switched off the lamp before rolling over to get some sleep. His body protested as the sting of various aches and pains made themselves known. Locke simply did his best to ignore them. In spite of his earlier dismissal over the possibility of sleep, the Emperor in all his glory is still merciful to his faithful servants, and Locke found that sleep was upon him before he even realised.

* * *

 _Darkness, it was all darkness except for the slightest hint of reddish light at the end of the hallway. Locke's boots echoed loudly upon the smooth tiled floor as he made his way cautiously along the antechamber. Many murals and busts lined the walls and alcoves on either side but with the light level so low, trying to make out the finer details was difficult. Even so, there was something strange about the artworks. The details that could be deciphered, proved to be highly disconcerting; impossible geometry and colours made him nauseous while the eyes of the various sculptures and painted characters followed Locke's progress with an eerie degree of interest._

 _Disregarding the paraphernalia surrounding him, Locke visually swept his surroundings, probing the gloom for any danger, his muscles tensing at the prospect of violence. The whole time his heart hammered inside his chest. It took a large amount of effort on his part to control his breathing; taking short quick breathes as he tried to minimise the sound he emitted._

 _As he neared the light source, Locke held his bastard sword in a low guard close to his chest, if any fiends from the shadows wished to harass him they would be met with cold steel. Entering through grand doorway, he came upon a colossal room with a high vaulted ceiling that stretched so far up as to be completely hidden by the cloying gloom._

 _The first thing he noticed were the long vertical windows at the far side of the chamber; running across the extent of the far wall, that stretched high up before ending in pointed gothic arches. Outside was a view unlike any other he had yet seen; a swirling cosmos, a myriad of all the colours in the rainbow and many more besides that. It was like gazing out into the majesty of creation itself as planets, stars, nebulas and galaxies merrily danced across the void. The light from this glorious display of celestial bodies played itself out across the onyx coloured floor. Locke inspected the ground with fascination: the smooth shiny black tiles were immaculate and so pristine in their cleanliness that he could see his own shaded reflection in it._

 _Notwithstanding the shimmering otherworldly wonder playing outside the great windows, the darkness still held sway, only tolerating the barest amount of light into its lair. However, what truly caught Locke's attention was a lone silhouetted figure, robbed and hooded, gazing out of the window in the same way that Locke had done. The figure although turned away was standing at the centre most window, his hands clasped behind his back in a classic military parade stance. Even at this distance, Locke could still sense the aura of command and control given off by the figure like the heat from a fire._

 _Locke sheathed his blade respectfully as he edged his way into the massive gallery keeping his hand upon on his sword pommel. Walking along the raised platform, he came to a short flight of steps which led to the main viewing platform on which the figure stood. He hated how loud his footfalls appeared; the sound echoing around what he now surmised must be the bridge of some sort of voidship. The man did not react to his arrival however, evidently too intent on the magnificent view beyond._

 _As he drew closer to the figure, he saw that the man wasn't alone. A glossy raven perched on his shoulder turned to meet his approach and pecked absently at its wings. It inspected him with those dark beady eyes, inclining its head to the side as it did so. Despite it being just a bird, Locke found himself captivated by its glare as if he was being judged by the small creature. Suddenly, catching him completely off guard, the raven released a single high-pitched squawk before flapping its wings in a flurry of falling feathers and sailed high up towards the ceiling where it swiftly became one with the impenetrable darkness._

 _Unnerved by this but pushing forward regardless, he moved closer towards the silhouetted man who as of yet remained still. "H-hello?" Asked Locke, his voice seeming tiny in the great expanse._

" _Hello Tomas, so glad that you could finally join me." Replied the stranger, refusing to turn around and face him. His voice was deep, confident but above all, precise in is intonation._

" _Do I know you?" Asked Locke, his voice still trembling with uncertainty._

"Probably not _… but I know you. In fact, it could be said I know you better than you know yourself." Stated the figure flatly. A look of bewilderment distorted Locke's features as he tried to comprehend the meaning of this stranger's words._

" _Uhh okay" replied Locke unsure of what to make of this engimatic being. "W-well you know my name, what's yours? "Asked the guardsman, hoping to gain some sort of footing in the conversation._

" _My name wouldn't mean a thing to the likes of you, most probably it would crack your psyche like an egg, leaving you as nothing more than a blind gibbering wreck. In time I may give you a name that your ignorant mind can fathom but now is not that time." Declared the stranger, a clear note of superiority in his tone._

" _I… see." Responded Locke made cagey by this shadowy man's answer. There was a pregnant pause as a large asteroid passed close by trailing a black shadow across the floor as it flew across the window panels. Once it had passed, the stranger spoke up again._

" _Do you know what triality means?" Asked the stranger innocently. Locke confused by the sudden change of subject flitted through his mind to give some sort of answer. "Can't say that I do." Was about all that he could manage. The mental image of Doric with his face in the palm of his hand came to him immediately._

 _The stranger grunted, evidently expecting nothing more than shear ignorance. "Triality is the mathematical term which describes the relationship of three different vector spaces commonly referred to as 'X','Y' and 'Z'." The guardsman, never the best at maths, simply nodded for him to continue detecting a more cogent point to this explanation. "This term can be applied to other things as well, in reality to anything that has a relationship of three different parts. However, for us, I am speaking of the universal triality of the fighting man sometimes known as the 'Soldier's Trinity'. Surely, given your experience, you know what the three facets of that trinity are?"_

" _Gonna have to let ya down again there." Shrugged Locke disinterestedly as he looked around at their surroundings._

" _This is a poor first impression Tomas. The three characteristics are as follows: The Warrior – Honourable, Courageous; Passionate. The Killer – Precise, Unfeeling; Effective. The Coward – Fearful, Useless; Weak." The way the stranger seemed to emphasise the word 'weak' made Locke pause._

" _Sorry mate but you've lost-"_

 _The stranger harrumphed loudly, interrupting Locke mid-sentence. "Spare me your colloquial dribble. I am no friend of yours." Stated the silhouetted figure harshly. It felt as if all the warmth, what little there was, flooded out of the room in that moment; the darkness creeping slightly closer. "For how can I be friends with someone who lately has shown nothing but the aspect of The Coward?"_

 _Locke was quick to respond. "What! I am no coward! Who are you to make such claims?" Raising his voice in indignation._

" _A humble observer. From what I've seen of you recently; you've shown naught but cowardice. A miserable failure temporarily obscured by a quick smile and a friendly façade." His voice calm and collected, completely ignoring the guardsman's outburst. "But we both know there is more to you than that, don't we?"_

 _As if he had been slapped by the God-Emperor himself, Locke was left utterly shocked by this shadowy character's description of him. "And what evidence do you base this on?" He demanded, pointing his calloused finger at the robed stranger's back._

" _The evidence is all around us." Explained the stranger calmly, finally unclasping his hands and raising them wide over his head; his murky fingers splayed out. "Were you not the one who fled and ran back to the Monastery leaving your comrades behind to die in that forsaken forest?_

" _I had orders! " Locke stated confidently._

" _Did you now? Did you really? It's a funny thing, in the heat of battle a mind will often try to find an excuse to avoid the prospect of conflict. Whatever increases the chances of survival. What do you honestly remember of that forest ambush?"_

 _Unsteadied by the man's question, he went back through his memory to the ambush in the woodland. The images were blurred; time sped up and slowed down in equal measure. One moment he was behind a tree firing back at the xeno invaders and the next he was on Fury riding away as fast as he could._

" _No… I'm sure… I was told to go." Stated uncertainly, scratching his head as the foundation of his personal image was shaken slightly._

" _Was it not you, who fled from the Monastery as soon as the battle began, leaving friends you've known for so long to fight on without you as you made your escape?" Asked the stranger, ignoring Locke's ramblings._

" _I was ordered to go then as well. "Replied Locke, a small degree of confidence returning to his voice._

" _Hmmm, were you? Think!" Commanded the stranger._

 _The rattle of gunfire, explosions lighting up the forest. Guardsman being cut down left and right; blood, blood everywhere. The adrenaline, the fear all working in tandem. Brandr was hit, he took him back to the first aid station and then he was on the steps of the dais with the artefact. He was trying to get Adept Doric to flee with him and then that Eldar interrupted his plans._

" _No! That isn't how it happened! It can't be! I'd never leave my friends willingly. I wouldn't! This isn't right!" Shouted Locke pressing his hands to his skull, his head throbbed with a crushing headache. "What have you done to my memory!" Exclaimed the guardsman. The silhouetted stranger hadn't moved, his back still facing the shaken soldier._

 _The stranger unperturbed, continued his list of allegations like an inquisitor trying to squeeze the guilt out of a doomed innocent. "Was it not you who allied yourself to a xeno despite the fact that not moments before you witnessed your own countrymen being slaughtered wholesale by members of that very same race." Interjected the stranger, his tone dripping with derision. "Did you not do so with the purpose of warding off your own insecurities and to save your own skin?" The stranger ended his tirade to which Locke had no answer, everything he had stated struck too close to home._

" _You know nothing about me!" Shouted Locke dismissively, refusing to believe the shadowy figure's depiction of events, but it was clear to both of them that his words lacked conviction._

" _I see, well then allow me to introduce you to those who do. Let us see what they think." Stated the stranger. As if on que, ghostly pale-blue apparitions appeared above them. Locke recognised them immediately; his family, his section and many more besides that. So many people that he knew from different times of his life. Some dead and some still living. All of their ghoulish features upturned in disgust as they stared down at him. The sheer look of disappointment in their eyes was enough to force Locke to involuntarily take several steps backward._

" _What is this devilry?" Asked Locke wide eyed with terror._

 _Ignoring his outburst, one of the ghouls spoke. "Tom, why'd you do it?" Asked the apparition of his Father._

 _Recovering his wits, Locke responded to the saddened words of the old man, "Dad please, you don't understand-"_

" _No… I do understand, I understand I've raised a turncoat, a weakling, a xeno-lover." Tears rolled down the man's ghostly cheeks, each word difficult for him to even utter. "From now on, I have no son!" He affirmed austerely; the ghost of his mother started to weep as he led her away, both of them vanishing into the aether. The cries of his mother lingered for some time after she had evaporated._

 _That declaration from the man who had raised and loved him felt like a punch to the gut, Locke didn't even register that he had dropped to his knees, his arms wrapped around his stomach. He stared up at the floating ghost of his sister, her piercing gaze stung like physical blow while blue tears ran down her cheeks. "How could you? Don't come home, I never want to see you again!" She wailed as she too turned and vanished before he could reply._

" _No! Cora, please! Come back! Mam! Dad! Please, don't go! Don't leave me here…I-I'm sorry." Pleaded Locke to the empty air as tears of his own started to fall. It felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest, a bleak sickness taking hold in his belly. The other ghosts up above surrounded him and soon one by one started spouting their own vitriol at him. Brandr, Elis, Kern, Tapia, Jaxx and Daud derided him loudly and viciously._

" _Where were you Locke?" Asked Elis her sorrow saturating each word as she wandered away before dissolving into the air._

" _You treacherous bastard! You left us to die, you deserve to rot!" Shouted Jaxx. Tapia couldn't meet his eye, opting instead to link arms with Jaxx as they turned away and disappeared._

" _I've met some slippery two-faced pieces o' shit in my time but never in me wildest dreams did I think I'd say the same 'bout you." Voiced Kern, the big man clearly hurt by Locke's imagined wrongdoing._

 _Daud's ghost, hunched over in grief merely shook his head and left without a word but it was Brandr's accusation that hurt most out of all his squad mates. "You an' me known each other since the beginnin'. You were my brother Tom! No more though, I can barely stand to look at ya!" He said, voice cracking under the emotional whiplash as he too shook his head and spat. The wad of ectoplasm landing just in front of the dishevelled soldier. He was the last out of all his section to vanish._

" _Oh Locke, you were such a good lad but you've gone so far astray. You have left the path of the righteous to wander amongst the daemons of the dark. You are lost my poor boy, beyond the Emperor's light as is the fate of all those who willingly align themselves with the alien, the heretic and the mutant." Intoned Reverend Robynsun, the friendly old priest of Locke's village church. A sad smile plastered on his face while tears pricked his eyes. He loitered for a few moments before disappearing too._

" _I should 'a let ya die on Veldin. Nev'r thought you'd turn out like this, let the Abyss take you, I say!" Roared Sergeant Juron, revulsion etched across his pale-blue visage as his form dissolved into the air. One by one the remaining ghouls verbally lashed out at the broken kneeling guardsman who sobbed openly into his hands._

 _Eventually they all disappeared, leaving him and the silhouetted figure alone. "Very interesting, wouldn't you say?" He asked, cheerful as he rubbed verbal salt into the emotional wounds of the tormented guardsman._

" _Shut ya fuckin' mouth!" Shouted Locke blinking away the tears; his voice wavering by the crushing judgment of his friends and loved ones._

" _What a solid response." Assured the stranger sarcastically. "Weak, cowardly and treacherous. What a lovely combination of traits that you have."_

" _I said enough! Not one more fuckin' word!" Screamed the psychologically crippled soldier._

" _Or you'll do what?" scorned the silhouetted figure. Locke's eyes narrowed, pushing his feelings of shame, guilt and betrayal away, leaving only the ones that assisted in the acts of violence. He was done playing this creature's game. Blinded by rage, he roared a bestial war cry as he leapt up off the floor, drawing his sword in a flash of silver steel and charged towards his mysterious tormentor. He aimed his blade low, hoping to impale the shadowy bastard in the small of his back. At the last moment, just as he closed within a metre of the silhouetted figure, the stranger for the first time turned around to face him with his own drawn sword._

 _The clanging of steel echoed around the bridge, Locke's eyes growing wide as his blade struck the stranger's own weapon that until now had been hidden away beneath his robes. The two beings were then gripped in a contest of crossed swords, their faces inches apart. The stranger's face was still unnaturally hidden by the darkness except for his eyes, which glowed amber. It was almost painful to stare into those golden orbs as they were filled with unbridled malice and a cunning intellect._

" _Ahhh so you do have an ounce of mettle about you. Good!" He said, goading the guardsman into even greater levels of anger. Locke using all his strength pushed the silhouetted man backwards. Much to his annoyance, the stranger flew away from his onslaught and landed gracefully on the polished tilework._

 _The guardsman wasted no time in storming towards him; sending attack after attack at the enigmatic figure. The stranger countered each and every blow with comfortable ease although he still allowed himself to be pushed back not bothering to go on the offensive. The two of them clashed endlessly, silhouetted against the grand windows while the cosmos continued its business blissfully unaware of the fight that was taking place. Every time the blades clanged together; sparks flew temporarily lighting up the area around them._

 _Anger continued to bubble up through Locke as his frustration mounted. He just couldn't seem to hit this sinister bastard. He thrust again with his sword, aiming to spear the stranger at the centre of his chest but was denied as the stranger blocked, and half-heartedly reposted which forced Locke to retreat momentarily. It was like the stranger couldn't even be bothered to fight. His fury intensified when the idea crossed his mind that this shady wretch was merely toying with him._

 _With his vision turning red, Locke with renewed ferocity rained blow after blow on his unknown opponent to which the stranger blocked, parried or dodged perfectly. Whenever the stranger did engage and counterattack, he continually scored hits upon Locke's torso, arms and legs. Soon enough, a myriad of non-lethal cuts adorned his body; the wounds stinging as sweat inadvertently ran into them._

" _Is this all the challenge you can offer? Pathetic!" Taunted the stranger his evil eyes grinning in delight as he blocked another one of the guardsman's sword swings. Locke in that moment hated this creature more than anything he'd ever known. Gripping his bastard sword in a two-handed grip he swung the blade continually at his opponent; using it more like a club than an actual sword, all finesse and form disappeared. The desire to maim and kill overruling any conscious effort to stay true to correct sword play. "That's it! Use your anger!" Cried the mysterious being as he deflected another one of Locke's sword swings._

 _He hammered at his opponent's defences in much the same way artillery pounded on the walls of a city. However, it seemed that the mysterious being found this even easier to counter as he used Locke's strength and energy against him; reflecting and redirecting his wild and misjudged attacks. Twice, he unbalanced Locke severely allowing him to casually step inside his sword arc and clout him in the face with his fist. The second time he pulled this trick, he broke Locke's nose; causing blood to trickle down his face and jaw._

 _Locke moaned at the explosion of agony and withdrew away from his opponent, clutching his face and panting heavily. His sword felt slippery in his grip. At first he assumed it to just be sweat but when he saw the red liquid glinting from the light streaming through the windows he soon realised that this was not the case. Blood wept from all over his body as the pain finally caught up with him; wracking his body like a ship caught out in a storm._

 _Blinded in one eye due to an excess of blood pouring down it from a cut to the forehead, Locke focused his attention back on the stranger who was appraising his deft handiwork like an artist staring at his latest masterpiece. The comparison between the two fighters could not be more one sided if they had tried. Locke covered in cuts, bleeding all over, exhausted and panting like a dog. The stranger who stood confidently in his bearing, untouched by any of Locke's attacks and still fresh for the fight. His amber eyes overjoyed by his assured victory and the prolonged suffering of the guardsman._

" _Shall we finish this Tomas?" Enquired the shadowy figure sardonically. In response, Locke spat a glob of bloody spit in his general direction. "I'll take that as a yes." Laughed the stranger as he paced boldly towards him, his sword raised for the attack. It was as if a switch had been flipped inside the stranger's mind. His onslaught was all of a sudden unbearably fast, no more was he refusing to go on the offensive. The laziness that had accompanied his reposts and parries was replaced by cruel efficiency and abundant skill._

 _Locke found himself unable to weather the storm of steel that the stranger unleashed on him and was soon being forced backwards only just managing to block a swing aimed for his leg. The stranger, thrust, sliced and stabbed with his wicked blade which Locke only just managed to deflect and evade. The stranger, switching tactics; Swung his sword from low to high in a diagonal slash that would have opened up Locke's belly. As the guardsman desperately tried to meet the blow with his own blade, the stranger feinted. In a lightning fast jab, the stranger used his free hand and struck Locke in the face with such force that the soldier stumbled away only managing through either luck or force of will to keep his footing._

 _There would be no let-up however as the battle continued; the stranger chipped away at Locke's defences and resolve; taking him apart piece by piece. Although the stranger did find that the soldier had a few tricks of his own. Locke using an impressive use of footwork managed to sidestep a lunge and counter attacked in a swift flurry of jabs and slashes. He almost managed to score a blow on the stranger's shoulder but was blocked at the last minute by the silhouetted figure's shimmering sword._

 _Locke in a last-ditch effort tried to disarm his opponent. Unfortunately, this backfired catastrophically as their swords danced in a circling motion, right before the stranger's blade found an opening and sliced through the meat of Locke's arm, severing it completely._

 _Locke screamed as he reeled away but was brutally thrown to the ground by a flying kick from the silhouetted man which cracked his ribs and sent him sprawling to the floor. He writhed in agony, clutching his bloody stump that pumped out thick crimson blood between his fingers. The stranger leisurely walked over to the ruined soldier and began to laugh hideously as Locke pitifully attempted to edge away from him._

" _Now that was truly entertaining, wouldn't you say?" Asked the stranger humorously. Talking like an athlete after a particularly long run._

" _I-I'll… k-kill… you!" Whimpered Locke, staring defiantly back at the looming shadow. The stranger chuckled even more as he spun his bloodied blade in an elaborate display before sheathing it._

" _I admire your optimism, but I do not think you realise what you are truly dealing with." professed the stranger snidely as he raised his arm in front of him. At first Locke wasn't sure what was happening, but it became devastatingly clear as he began to float off the floor; suspended like a puppet on a string while his blood dripped onto the once immaculate floor beneath him._

" _How about a demonstration?" Asked the stranger menacingly. Before Locke could even give an answer, he was sent hurtling across the chamber to the far-off wall. He tumbled end over end in a silent unseen tornado, the room flashing by in a blur. He struck the solid mass with such force that he audibly heard his collar bone and several ribs break with a gut-wrenching snap. There was no time to even shriek as he was pulled back by an invisible hand and send gliding across the floor, friction burning the side of his face to a scorched ruin._

 _He was thrown again. His body rag dolling through the twilight until he struck the wall on the other side of the chamber with a sickening crunch. Pain lanced from all over, it felt like his muscles were being shredded from the inside out. His back and left leg took the brunt of the impact. The malformed limb that had once been his left leg was bent at an unnatural angle while his spine was broken beyond repair. Locke felt his body go limp in that moment. Finally, he was scraped off the wall and launched spinning upwards: higher and higher before finally smacking into the once-hidden ceiling in much the same way that a bug is crushed under a person's boot. The pressure let up instantly and he was graciously allowed to tumble hundreds of feet unaided; the floor rushing up to meet him. As he smacked into the ground, he felt his insides rupture and pulp. Ribs exploded out his back, taking many of his internal organs with them. It was unlike anything he'd ever felt before, the shear agony was even beyond screaming at this point. How he was still alive and able to feel this unbearable torture he did not know._

" _Impressed?" Questioned the stranger heartlessly. The horrifying pile of meat that had once been Locke mewled like a dying animal in way of response. Crouching down to the mutilated and broken solider, the stranger gently turned his head so that Locke's eyes were staring directly into the twin suns of his own. "Tell me Tomas, do you fear death?"_

 _With one lung horribly perforated and the other entirely absent from his open leaking chest cavity, he could only gargle incomprehensibly. "I suppose I'll have to ask you some other time. Shame." Said the stranger, a hint of irritation at Locke's refusal or more correctly inability to even answer. "Nevermind, till we meet again." Bidding Locke farewell, he patted him on the head. With a single click of his shadowy fingers, the guardsman was thrown bodily towards the nearest of the huge vertical windows. The glass broke into millions of tiny shards as his crushed form smashed into it. Twirling slowly in the void, the pieces of razor-sharp glass punctured and lacerated skin releasing what little blood he had left into the void. He would have let out another pitiful moaning sound at this new addition of pain, but he could no longer breath._

 _Locke drifted through the eternal nocturne of space, broken and abused while globules of blood trailed after his destroyed body. The last thing he saw before death took him was the glowing green of a stunning nebula and the amber eyes of the stranger, framed proudly by the large shattered window._

* * *

 **Review Responses:**

 **AncientofDayz – Damn, you got me.**

 **Unionist Minuteman – Thank you very much for your kind words. I had to do quite a bit of reading on the Eldar and went through quite a few drafts before I was happy with the combat scenes. Looks like it paid off. Initially I wanted the Artefact to have a greater role, but I think it's better if I leave warp related shenanigans to later chapters.**

 **Look2019 – Good review!**

 **Shadowfire12 – Oh I see, sorry I misunderstood what you were saying. My apologies for that! A lot of people seem to say that my story feels different, I'm not really sure how truthful that is but I'm happy that so many feel that way. Say no more mate, you come for the character interaction unfortunately there isn't much in this one, but I imagine it'll increase in the coming chapters. Glad that you're enjoying it as always.**

 **Opaque-Cavalier – Wow, now that is high praise indeed! I spend a lot of time on my chapters editing them and adding to them which is probably why they take so long and to see that it actually pays off is really rewarding. Yes, I agree, I think Locke and Aristriel will get quite attached to one other over the course of their journey. As for the ending, I'm in two minds. I've got a really dark ending that I could use which would be more appropriate for 40K, but I know it would irritate people, but I've also got a brighter, more bitter sweet ending I could use. I'll have to see which one I go for.**

 **The Inquisitor – You'll have to wait and see.**

 **Another S.T.A.L.K.E.R – When I first thought about doing the whole project, I imagined using the 'love at first sight' nonsense but I've found that so many other authors have used that trope for GuardxEldar that I decided to go with the grittier 'forced together by circumstance' type deal. I think I made the right choice and I'm glad that you agree.**

 **Aaron Black – Uhhh, nope.**

 **John Legend – Indeed, he is quite the scally wag of a guardsman. Yes, I looked at yours and a few others and decided to do a bit of research on Eldar and how they're depicted in the lore. I'm glad you like my interpretation of the various fighting styles. Haha I wondered how many people would pick that reference out.**

 **York52 – Indeed although originally it was supposed to just be one chapter but I kept adding to it until eventually it ended up as being two chapter's worth of material.**

 **Guest – Iggy Pop is a very good song, agreed.**

 **Guest – Yes, I'm a slow writer and I like to take my time. Glad that you're enjoying it.**

 **Guest – Well, the story has only just got going so all I can really say is be patient. The problem with the whole grimdark thing is that the story still has to be somewhat believable and immersive. Often I find that writers who really pile on the Grimdark of the setting end up making the world building complete nonsense or an utter joke. Now I do have a few horrible things planned over the course of the story but like I've previously said, you're going to have to wait. I don't know, maybe this chapter will satisfy your hunger for grimdark? Anyway, I'm glad you are enjoying my story in some capacity.**

 **hapyjohn – Thank you kindly**


	11. Chapter 11

**Hello all! Writing this chapter took a little bit longer than I expected mainly because I keep getting side-tracked. I've been binge watching 'The Boys' as well as playing too much 'No Man's Sky' recently. There's also the fact that this chapter focuses quite a bit on Aristriel.**

 **Now writing things from a female perspective when you're a bloke (and vice versa) is always going to be a bit difficult but when the person in question is an alien with a different culture, religion etc that only adds to the complexity. Anyway, enough of me waffling hope you enjoy the chapter as always.**

 **Song of the day: Ain't No Sunshine – Bill Withers**

* * *

 **Chapter 11 – Laetius Nuntio**

The edge of the blade rested gently against his throat, carefully nestled in the crook of his neck; light as a lover's kiss. A slight increase in pressure and a quick draw of the arm; it would be done in an instant. Aristriel stared down at the sleeping guardsman, carefully weighing up the options in her mind and the eventual consequences of her actions. How she wanted to be rid of this mon'keigh. To be trapped together with a member of the race that attacked her home and destroyed her family was truly a bitter pill to swallow. _Cegorach must be chuckling heartily at my misfortune._ She surmised.

Everything about this human aggravated her. The ungainly way in which he moved was a prime example. The muscles of his body writhing underneath his skin as they inefficiently contorted and relaxed at irregular intervals. Judging by his overly exaggerated movements she was unsure if he was merely an invalid or if all humans acted as he did. From her superior perspective, the guardsman appeared to move through a denser medium than air; forever trapped in slow motion.

The noise though was something that grated on her unbearably more than anything else. Almost as if some sick deity had created humanity to be as subtly irritating as possible. Everything the mon'keigh did created noise: whether it was when he spoke incessantly in that accursed language of his or even when he simply breathed.

Regardless of whether the sounds he emitted were voluntary or involuntarily it still felt like an audible plague upon her ear drums slowly eating at away at her sanity. The very thought that she would have to spend many more days enduring this torture was not worth contemplating. It seemed that with every snort or grunt that fumbled its way out of the barbarian's chest cavity only deepened her longing for the comfortable silence of her brethren.

Another horrible reality of humans was their scent which seemed to seep into everything that they went near. Aristriel and this mon'keigh had only been in this large mossy plant carcass for a few hours and already the cloying smell of humanity covered its every surface, much to her disgust. At the back of her mind was the constant fear that prolonged exposure to him would permanently taint her.

If that nightmare scenario did come to pass, inevitably she would be an Eldar apart from the rest: an outcast. Civilised Eldar society would snub her as it did to all those outside of its regimented code of acceptability. What would she do if that happened? Join the liberal yet backward Exodites or the strange dancers of the Harlequins? There was a darker option of course, but she refused to countenance it.

These minor annoyances collected together inside the emotional cauldron of her heart, garishly gnawing away at her emotional endurance. That is why she sat there in the darkness; towering over the slumbering mon'keigh ready to slit his throat like a ghoul from half-forgotten legends.

Aristriel dearly sought to do it, the temptation was great and yet she still needed him for the task ahead. It truly was a terrible business that required a mighty and graceful warrior such as her to rely on a stupid barbarian. _Why me? What have I done to deserve this injustice?_ The more Aristriel thought about it, the more she was certain Cegorach, the laughing God, was playing a game at her expense.

 _Nothing lasts forever._ She told herself, in an attempt to take the sting out of this grand galactic insult. It was a comforting and familiar adage that she had heard many times, one that had accompanied her throughout her travels. " _Moments of hardship are like moments of bliss: they are finite. Empires rise; empires fall, stars are born and stars die: an endless cycle of light and dark. All one can do is enjoy the good and endure the bad. Patience, ultimately, is the key."_ How long ago had it been since she had first heard those very words? She had been just a youngling at the time, bright eyed and naïve, unknowing of the galaxy that she had become a part of.

Unnerved by thoughts of her younger self, she pushed them to the back of her mind. The human's pouch was nearby. Although she could not see the artefact inside, it was obvious it was there; the air around it distorting slightly as if viewed through impure glass. The Omnicron, a relic of a far-off past, forged from the souls of stars; encased within the immaterium made real.

An object of unspeakable power left impotent and easily contained within the aura of this humble mon'keigh. How this guardsman had managed this impressive feat was confounding in of itself although it had not taken long for the banshee to come up with several theories. _Is there something sinister at work here? A touch of the darkness, perhaps?_ Whatever it was, she would have to watch this human closely.

Realising that she was getting side-tracked amongst a myriad of thoughts, she let out a long sigh that seemed to linger far longer than it should have done. With a twitch of the hand, the blade was reluctantly withdrawn from the human's neck. _You will live for a while longer Mon'keigh._

Indulging in her imagined scenarios was not the only reason that she had snuck up on the helpless guardsman. It had not escaped her notice that the wound in his shoulder was affecting his martial performance not to mention his travelling speed. If they were to survive in this place they were going to need every advantage that they could grasp. At the moment, his injury was a major handicap that would have to be resolved.

Aristriel had tried to offer assistance earlier but the ungrateful human had ignorantly denied her offer. Due to his most unobliging nature beforehand, she relegated herself to healing him while he was unconscious. Not that she minded of course. He was quieter than usual and as he was asleep there was no chance of him trying to start a conversation. Moving closer, Aristriel inspected the field dressing, taking note of the poor-quality material and substandard fastening solution.

With an insignificant shake of the head she began to slice through the hastily applied bandages, periodically glancing at his face to ensure that he continued to slumber. The more arrogant part of her, wondered why she even cared if he woke up. In a contest of arms, she would win every time. While undeniably true, it certainly wouldn't foster any kind of trust between them. At the moment he was at least somewhat willing to cooperate, undoubtedly if the fragile pact they had was ruined it would only make her job that much harder. Brushing the unhelpful thoughts away, she smoothly began the grisly task ahead.

It did not take long before the last of the bandages fell away, revealing the ugly gouge in his shoulder which immediately started to weep at her rude intrusion. She eyed the wound for a few moments drinking in the details whilst judging its severity. Eventually Aristriel concluded that it would be repairable with her limited skillset. All Craftworld Eldar are psychically attuned to some extent and while she would never walk the path of the seer that did not mean she was totally bereft of psychic talent.

One of the first things an Aspect Warrior is taught, before they are even given a practice staff, is how to access the Empyrean to selfheal; swiftly followed by healing fellow Aeldari. She flitted through her memory palace, remembering centuries old lessons that had helped her on so many occasions. Cautiously, so as to not wake him, she calmly placed her hands around the wound. Aristriel recoiled slightly in disgust as blood trickled onto her gloved fingers.

Ignoring the crimson lifeblood coating her hands, she felt the pleasant feeling of warmth from his body soaking into her hands. The skin of his shoulder was smooth to the touch, a welcome surprise after she had learnt how rough and calloused his hands were. The flesh underneath however was solid with hardened muscle, a clear indicator from a life of endless activity.

In response to her touch, the human unexpectedly grunted loudly and whispered something in a bleary voice. Aristriel's hands immediately shot back to her sides; her heartbeat racing as she prepared to beat a hasty retreat. It turned out that this was not necessary, after a brief adjustment to his position, he soon stilled and snoozed happily; completely oblivious to the alien mere inches away. The Eldar froze perfectly still; imitating a living statue. Suspecting a trick, she waited patiently for several minutes to ensure that he was truly in a deep sleep. Relief soon calmed her once his breathing had returned to a relaxed and methodical rhythm.

Satisfied that he was still asleep, her hands tentatively resumed their positions on the mon'keigh's shoulder. Mentally preparing herself for what was to come, Aristriel closed her eyes and concentrated intensely. The trick to manipulating the material plane using the Empyrean was to find your centre. There exists a neutral point in all living beings where all emotions are neutralised; often described by Seers as the eye of the soul storm.

Aristriel as an experienced warrior found her centre in no time at all. Channelling the warp, she psychically reached out. Gradually, with quiet finesse, she bent the various threads of reality to her will and directed them towards the guardsman's lacerated shoulder. A golden glow soon swathed her hands in a cloak of radiance as she took up the mantle of healer.

It took copious amount of effort on her part, far more than she had suspected. Usually a wounded Eldar would be able to assist the healer with their own psychic ability while their wraithbone armour would further compliment the healing process. There was none of that here. The mon'keigh like many of his backwards species was not a psyker in any way that she could detect nor did his crude uniform offer any healing benefits.

With no assistance she had to rely on her own limited skill. Frustration built up within her which rapidly spiralled into curses aimed at herself for giving the human this injury in the first place. The Aeldari language is masterful thing with almost infinite ways to insult someone; many of those slurs came to the fore now through gritted teeth and panted breaths. This flurry of curses was soon followed by lamentations on her lack of foresight.

The process was insufferably drawn-out and maintaining her concentration was tiring to the extreme. How long she crouched there, willing the human's pathetic body to heal, she could not say. Tiny crystalline beads of sweat appeared upon her brow; lazily dripping into her tightly shut eyes as she began to shiver under the mental strain.

The progress that was being made may have been sluggish however it did appear to be working. There had been a worry that the skills she had learned healing Eldar would not apply to humans. Aristriel was glad to see those fears unfounded as blood vessels tentatively reconnected to one another, tendons and muscles reknit themselves and skin expanded to cover the gaping red gash.

Agonising minute by agonising minute ticked by until eventually the wound closed up entirely. Once completed, she finally released the various aethereal threads that strained against her psyche; desperate to be liberated from her machinations. Psychic thunder rippled through the earthy cocoon; a final cheer of freedom from the spirits.

The tension in the air disappeared instantly along with the strength in her limbs. Aristriel, exhausted by the ordeal, collapsed into a heap on the floor. Awkwardly, she knocked over the guardsman's lamp in the process. The weathered metal light clattered loudly as it went over on its side, but the human did not stir. Weakly she pushed herself off the withered floor and allowed herself a few moments to recover. It felt as if her own life energy had been drained from her and now all she desired to do was sleep.

Nevertheless, drowsy as she was, Aristriel did manage to lift her head up in order to admire her handiwork. The horrible laceration from before had been replaced by a thin red line. While slightly enflamed; the Eldar was confident that that would lessen in time. "You owe me for that mon'keigh!" She whispered accusingly at the human's supine form.

There was a concern that the healing was purely superficial: the injury still present, merely hidden beneath the skin. Ensuring that the painful toil had not been in vain, she stealthily crept back over to the sleeping guardsman. However, on closer inspection, she could find no fault with the state of the healed wound. _Maybe I should have walked the path of the healer?_ She reflected smugly.

Interestingly, she became aware that her gaze kept shifting to the other scars and previously mended injuries that littered his upper torso like corpses on a battlefield. The majority looked fairly inconsequential while a select few, from the state of the healing scars left behind, looked positively diabolical.

Before she even realised it, her finger was tracing lightly through a rough canyon of scar tissue that went diagonally across his muscled pectoral. Dead on her feet, Aristriel entered into a trance like state fuelled by exhaustion and light-headedness from the psychic tribulation. It was only when the mon'keigh began to clumsily writhe back and forth that the brief spell was broken. Sobering up in an instant, the banshee immediately sprang backwards, fearful that she had awakened him. He whispered half spoken words, in a helpless albeit groggy tone of voice, to the air.

 _He's having another nightmare._ Deduced Aristriel as the wave of negative emotions radiated off him like heat from the sun. Acting quickly, she decided to leave him to his troubled sleep and returned to where she had been sitting before. Casting one last worried glance at the squirming human, she too found herself also falling into a deep sleep.

Next morning, she awoke and found herself completely refreshed; ready for the journey ahead. Unlike her mon'keigh traveling companion, her slumber had been uneventful and calm. Although when she looked over to where she had left him, her heart stopped. The guardsman was gone along with all of his equipment. The calm permeating her mind evaporated like the dew in the morn as the reality of the situation became obvious.

Springing up in a burst of motion, Aristriel studied the entirety of their rotting sanctum; scanning the floor for any clues while her mind moved at the speed of light. The exhaustion from the healing process had robbed her of her usually keen senses allowing the mon'keigh to slink away into the early hours of the morning. _I heal him and he abandons me! Do these creatures know nothing of honour?_

Gathering what little kit she had, Aristriel immediately extricated herself from the mossy refuge. Her mind was dominated by panic and promises of violence. Once she found that human she'd beat him within an inch of his life that she swore by Asuryan's wrath. Leniency and respect had failed to win the mon'keigh's compliance. Therefore, cruelty and brutal discipline would suffice; after all it was the only thing these pathetic savages knew. Their "commissars" were proof enough of that.

Pumping her limbs forward, Aristriel erupted out of the leafy hollow entrance and into the glorious sunlit morning. The mild winter air met her causing her to involuntarily release a cloud of vapour as she exhaled. Aristriel shifted her head frantically from side to side as she determined the best heading when suddenly she paused. In the little clearing a few yards from where she was standing, there was the mon'keigh, sat on a fallen log, bent over his stove patiently waiting for it to boil. At her sudden appearance, he looked up before giving her a curt nod.

The Mon'keigh was wearing his helmet with visor lifted up and his rebreather hanging freely off his headgear. He looked haggard; dark and heavy bags hung beneath his bloodshot eyes. The nightmare had done its work, robbing him of his sleep; an astral thief in the night. Those grey eyes of his, piercing as always in their intensity, snuffed out her fiery rage. The fury that had enraptured her being faded without protest, her clenched fists relaxing as she smoothed her armour plates; playing off her previous behaviour.

Aristriel could not help but feel an enormous amount of embarrassment at the assumptions she had made only a few moments ago. Not that she would take anything back of course although in future she would be more careful to jump to conclusions in regard to this human.

Her mind soon turned to other matters. The sun was only just about to crest the skyline far off in the distance; a truly magnificent view of the valley coated in a temporary blanket of gold.

It occurred to her that this was usually the time in which she would do her sword dance. Ever since she had joined the Howling Banshee aspect shrine, her life had consisted of endless training with the sword. Sunrise, zenith and sunset; her blade would willingly leave her scabbard for a gruelling training session amongst her sword sisters.

No matter where she was, be it in Alaitoc or on campaign, the sword dance called to her to fulfil her endless training regime. In fact, so strong was her muscle memory that before she even realised it her hand had gripped the pommel of her power sword.

* * *

Deep lines of thought etched his features as he mulled over various things in his mind. Two nightmares in a row, it had been so long since he had experienced that terrible occurrence. It was not until his third year in the Guard that the memories of what he had done had finally relented. Now, it seemed like they were coming back with a vengeance. He had noted, however, that the nightmares that he was experiencing now were far more prolific than the ones he had experienced back then.

There was clarity to them as well that the older ones had lacked. The sense of fear was far more acute too. _What's gotten into me? Just rattled that's all. Too much to take in an' all at once._ Reassured Locke, in an effort to calm his nervous psyche. There were other thoughts too of course, bubbling away at his mind's periphery. _It's that fuckin' rock. There's somethin' off about it, look what it did to Doric!_ Locke forced the terrifying notions back. A man that followed outrageous ideas, more often than not, found himself on the path to ruin.

Shaking his head, he forced himself to shift his concentration back to the water in the stove that lapped around the MRE pack wedged into the tin. The stove was on full blast and yet it was taking an age to heat up the damned liquid. Already he could feel his stomach rumbling; a clear demand for sustenance. He began to reflect that not two days before had he been in the same position surrounded by his friends going about the same boring garrison duty that they had done for months on end. _How quickly things change eh?_

It was only when he heard the familiar sound of a sword being drawn did he look up. The alien stood at the edge of the clearing, stock still with her blade drawn in a classic swordsmen's pose. The longer he looked at her the more he found himself struck by her motionlessness. Time appeared to stand still around her when abruptly she sprang into life.

With grace and fluidity, she changed her bearing flawlessly. The xeno's body was perfectly balanced: her sword an extension of her arm; flashing as it caught the morning sun. The blade gleamed in brilliance as the alien put it through its paces; stabbing, thrusting and swiping at the empty air as she moved from stance to stance.

The banshee strode around the clearing where each step taken turned into another pose or sword form. An air of professionalism coloured her working, each pace: short, economical, and precise in its placements. The shear amount of discipline and muscle manipulation at the Eldar's disposal adroitly restrained her actions: controlling her balance with absolute dominance. This allowed her lithe body to twist and turn with the flow of the sword.

The speed at which she moved was remarkable, his eyes could scarcely follow her as she padded around the glade constantly changing the height of her guard as her attitude shifted from aggression to defence and back again.

Locke watched her, enthralled by her morning sword drill, for about half an hour until a burning sensation from his lower leg drew his attention away from the magnificent display in front of him. Looking down, he realised that the water was boiling. Indignant at being ignored, the boiling torrent of bubbles had spat a wad of scaling water at him.

Despite the minor stinging pain, he was glad that his food was ready as he moved to switch off the stove and open up the MRE packet. His face fell slightly at the watery fluorescent mush that stared back at him from inside the sachet. _Of all the sodding meals I could get and I end up with sweet and sour grox. The galaxy is a fuckin' joke._ He swore inwardly.

Spooning the Munitorum slop into his mess tin, he raised his head to find the alien sat across from him. Taken aback by her passive demonstration of stealth, he looked at where he had last seen her standing. _How in the seven hells of the abyss does she do that?_ Locke asked himself while the red lenses of her mask bored him into once again.

He swirled his compact fork through the horrible greasy mass that was laughably called food, a look of distaste plastered squarely on his visage. The smell of processed meat and limb vegetables wafted its way up to his nostrils. In the face of the vile gruel, he decided to procrastinate in the form of conversing with the alien. "Quite a show ya put on, Xeno. You, uh, do that often then?" Asked Locke; pointing with his fork at the xeno's sword.

The howling banshee's gaze nonchalantly turned to acknowledge her blade but she said nothing. All the guardsman got in response was the vapour of her breath. Unsure as to how to proceed he changed the subject to other matters.

"I uh… well…" Locke briefly flicked his eyes towards her, noticing the dried blood on her fingers. "You… um… uh." He stuttered while the alien remained motionless. Embarrassed by his own sheepishness, he turned his eyes away and began scratching the back of his head. "I just wanted t' say thanks for fixin' me shoulder." Blurted out the guardsman; tapping his healed wound as he did so.

The xeno, understanding his meaning, gave him a brisk nod in response. It soon struck Locke, that this was the first true interaction that they'd actually had. Content that his words of thanks had been accepted he soon set about filling his stomach as he shovelled the barely edible food into his mouth.

The Eldar remained immobile, content to just sit and watch. However, after a few minutes of his mindless munching, Locke noticed that she deliberately moved her hand so that it was pressed against her abdomen. It didn't take a genius to work out what was wrong. _She's hungry. Makes sense I guess, never saw her eat anything. Doubt she's got any food on her either._

Locke swallowed the latest pile of sludge with a resounding gulp. "Aight lass, ya want somethin' to eat?" Asked Locke, pointing to the yellowish food stuff swilling around his mess tin and then at her. She took a few seconds to respond, evidently weighing up the options in her mind. _What a choice, rancid yellow mush or starving to death?_ Eventually she gave a small nod.

It did occur to him that this probably counted as conspiring with a xeno; an act punishable by death… or worse. Despite the harsh accusations echoing from his nightmare, which he soundly ignored, he reasoned that by working with this xeno; he greatly increased the chance that high command would receive the artefact. It was a tenuous explanation but it was the only thing separating him from being an Imperial fugitive so he rolled with it.

Locke grabbed his spare mess tin and expertly spooned half of his food into it. Offering it to her, she took it graciously with a slight dip of the head in thanks. Just as he speared a greasy piece of unidentifiable meat onto his fork; a great realisation struck Locke. In order for her to eat anything, she would have to remove her helmet.

The idea of seeing the alien's face filled Locke with curiosity but also a deep sense of dread. He remembered how his friend Jaxx had described Eldar. The idea that he'd be travelling with some monster from a children's nightmares made him wince privately. At present she was just a silent, faceless ghost with an unnerving mask. He certainly found it strange but at least he could tolerate it. However, knowing that the intimidating helmet hid the face of a dreadful beast was a great cause for concern.

 _Maybe I should look away? Give her some privacy?_ A click, followed by a quiet hiss drew him back to the present as the xeno unhurriedly removed her war mask. Locke mentally prepared himself for the grim sight that he was undoubtedly about to witness. She elegantly lifted off the helmet from the front; the red plume of her war mask temporarily blocking his view as it billowed in the breeze.

He was about to shovel another spoonful of the sickening mush into his mouth when suddenly his arm went slack and his mouth gaped open like a slack jawed oaf. His eyes grew wide at the creature before him. What he had thought she looked like in his mind's eye had been way off, by an incredible margin. A single thought flew through his mind, _Jaxx, you little bullshitter!_

This was no foul monster from the abyss sitting in front of him but a lovely fair maiden. Her hair was the colour of molten copper, done up lavishly in a large bun at the back of her head while her angelic visage was framed by thin bangs of hair running either side of her long-pointed ears. An angular heart-shaped face complete with a thin Grecian nose flanked on either side by high cheek bones. A small mouth with full lips, no doubt she would be the envy of women in every high court across the galaxy. The pale beauty before him was unbelievable but it was her eyes that captured his attention the most. Large glossy ovals stared back at him, her irises a lush green. The only blemish that detracted from her good looks was the open scorn with which she viewed him.

Locke, acknowledging her contempt tried not to stare and utterly failed. Her wondrous eyes, like two jade emeralds, tugged at him with all the power of a black hole. The xeno was slightly perturbed by his unyielding gaze, drawing back while a subtle hint of discomfort coloured her features. Luckily, the loud ping of slop hitting Locke's mess tin defused the situation and finally drew his attention away. He had lost so much concentration that he hadn't even noticed his spoonful of mush sliding off his fork.

 _Bloody hell; calm down. Remember she's still an alien._ He coughed to break the silence between them. "Sorry 'bout staring, I've… uh… never seen an Eldar without their headgear on before." He said apologetically, gesturing vaguely in her direction. In response, her mouth formed a hard line whilst the rest of her face became an impassive mask.

He could already hear Reverend Robynson berating him for his reaction to the alien. " _The alien is the epitome of an abomination; a sickening parody of human form. Those that consort with the alien are forever cast aside by the Emperor's holy light. Remember that, so when the day comes, you might introduce these fiends to the unity of man and the Emperor's mercy!"_ Locke played the sermon again and again through his mind to dampen his instinctual desires.

Of course in the brief time that he had spent in the xeno's company, he had noticed the curvaceous features iconic of all women but he had always been able to temper those observations with the incorrect assumptions that behind that mask was the face of a monstrosity. That was impossible now that he knew what she truly looked like. Part of him wished that she had kept her helmet on or taken the food off to eat somewhere else.

Unsure what to do, Locke decided that discretion was the better part of valour and averted his eyes away from her. Instead, he focused his attention on eating the sickening gruel in his mess tin as quickly as possible. Try as he might, curiosity would play upon his mind like a foul temptress. After some time, he briefly glanced up at the xeno who was inspecting the foodstuff jiggling on her spoon. The guardsman couldn't help but be amused at the alien as she fought to keep her facial features in check. Her disgust was obvious.

"It gets easier after the first mouthful." Said Locke; leaning in as he gestured at the rancid fare on her eating utensil. Her eyes flicked briefly over to him. The intensity of her glare struck him as sure as a sledgehammer; causing him to reluctantly shy away from the contempt in her eyes. Her burning gaze rested on him before moving back to the smelly focal point of her ire. The xeno's chest expanded before deflating dramatically as she let out a long sigh. Without warning she put the food in her mouth; freezing abruptly as the foul taste sent shivers down her spine. Locke could tell she was trying to maintain an air of haughty superiority which all but cracked.

Her left eye twitched slightly as she smoothly pulled the spoon out from between those perfectly formed lips. Locke couldn't help but smile, every new guardsman reacted almost the same way to their first taste of MREs. Finally she could no longer continue the charade as she gagged whilst her cheeks took on a slight green tinge.

Locke, unable to contain his amusement, roared with laughter as he rocked back on his haunches. The xeno, assuming some sort of joke at her expense, drew her dagger and leapt at it him aiming it at his throat. Seeing the anger that lit up her face, the guardsman's mirth came to a swift end as he held up his hands in mock surrender. The threat of the small blade, uncomfortably close to his gullet, was only reinforced by her unwavering scowl.

"H-hey now." Locke stammered, "I didn't do anything to it, army foods always been crap. Swear on me old nan." Slowly he moved his hand down to his mess tin, watched closely by the infuriated alien. Locke scraped a bit of the foul slop from the bottom of the tin before eating it. The Eldar's sword arm stayed motionless although she did raise an eyebrow.

Used to the taste as he was, Locke still squirmed slightly at the salty bitter tang of clashing flavours. Her gorgeous eyes moved up and down in time with his chewing before finally settling as he swallowed. Still, she wasn't convinced; her eyes narrowing in suspicion. _What a mistrustful bitch._ Thought Locke; rolling his eyes in disbelief. He opened his mouth wide to prove he had swallowed the foodstuff.

She took several seconds to probe the inside of his mouth with her gaze before she relented. Her dagger was withdrawn and placed back in its sheath. Locke relaxed visibly once he noticed her face return to its impassive state. "Guess you Eldar ain't big on havin' a laugh." Stated Locke, distant in his intonation. The Eldar, detecting another weak jest, shot him an irritated glance in response. Not wanting to antagonise each other any further both of them consciously decided to stop wasting time and eat the remnants of the MRE pack.

It didn't come as any surprise that Locke was the first to finish his putrid breakfast with the Eldar finishing hers a few minutes later. Eating the MRE had clearly been a toil to her as she appeared to relax marginally once she had eaten it although to Locke it seemed that a relaxed Eldar was comparable to a human with a broom handle shoved up his arse. Smiling at his own joke, he set about breaking camp. Efficiently as any guardsman; it did not take Locke long to clean and pack away the mess tins and eating utensils.

"I've been thinking Xeno." Her harsh eyes fixed on him once again. "I think I we need to go off an actual heading rather than just wander around blindly like we did before. Would you agree?" She responded by blowing a stray hair out of her face, a look of disinterest colouring expression. Locke sighed, "I'll take that as a yes." Stated the guardsman emphatically: as he began rifling through his pack.

After several minutes without finding what he wanted, he practically shoved his whole arm in to the bottomless pit of his backpack while he stared up at the sky with his tongue partially sticking out. "Now, unfortunately I 'lost' my compass way back when or at least that's what people said. Nothin' but bullshit, it was a thieving bastard in 3rd Platoon who did it, guy called Glenns, real nasty piece o' work. Face like a grox's minge." The Eldar vaguely interested in the unusual actions of the guardsman cringed slightly at the tone of his words.

"Anyway Xeno, luckily for us, we don't need it 'cause I'm a bloody genius." One by one he pulled out all the items he needed: his lighter, a needle from his sewing kit, his ceremonial bottle and his tired old mess tin. "Well I say 'genius' but it was actually Adept Doric who showed me this neat little trick. You might have seen him when you dropped in uninvited, remember him? He was the unconscious bloke with the crazy hair lying on the table. No? Never mind then."

Leaning over Locke grabbed a large clump of snow and shoved it into his mess tin. His lighter made short-work of the snow, quickly turning it to liquid water. Locke placed the mess tin at his feet before grabbing his ceremonial bottle. The presiding Arch Duke of Narvos presented every new guard recruit with a small bottle of laetius nuntio or 'laetius' for short. Locke had heard from a few people it was High Gothic but what it actually meant, he did not know. He rotated the tiny decanter, watching as the amber liquor flowed round.

Locke stared down at the wondrously made glassware. The painted golden decorations in the shape of fenwick ferns wreathed around the body of the glass flask. At its centre was the embossed emblem of Narvos: the yellow gryphon on a red shield with an unsheathed sword under its right paw. Locke remembered seeing the bottle for the first time; just one small part of his graduation ceremony.

 _It had been a beautiful day at the Narvosi capital Maygard. The sun was shining with not a cloud in sight, the banners were unfurled, the crowds cheering as they marched through the city in their crisp parade uniforms. Women and children weaved in amongst them, giving out kisses and handing out flowers respectfully._

 _Mile after mile of joyous celebration, all the way until they reached the crystal palace where the newly elected Arch Duke met them with all the finery fitting a head of state. After the ceremony, the men of the replacement companies of the 195_ _th_ _light infantry drank themselves silly while helping themselves to the many whores in every brothel and tavern._

That felt like a lifetime ago now. Unlike many of his comrades in the 195th who had downed the ceremonial liquor as soon as they were dismissed, Locke had held onto his. He didn't really know why he never drank it as soon as he was able but something at the back of his mind told him to hang onto it and so he did. For seven years, that bottle had been an indispensable part of his kit, enduring the same bumps, scrapes and near misses that he had.

Ironically though, it was the cork that he needed. He almost felt bad about opening it after how long he had had it. Once opened, the supposedly delicious alcohol wouldn't keep. With a reserved sigh he took the bottle in his hand, eyeing the intricately designed glasswork before pulling at the stopper.

The cork came away with a squeaky pop that was so out of place in the forestry glade. "Bottom's up." He said, raising the bottle to the banshee in mock merriment. The amber liquor was strong and did an amazing job at erasing the foul after taste of the MRE rations. Initially sweet with a hint of summer fruit flowing around his mouth and then down into his stomach where a welcome feeling of warmth blossomed from within.

Respectfully he covered his mouth as he coughed due to the burning sensation at the back of his throat. "Bloody hell, that's the good stuff alright." Locke noticed the intrigue in the alien's eyes and quickly followed suit. "You want a taste, Xeno?" Asked Locke; offering the small bottle. She made no move to take it, hesitant to try any more of human cuisine.

"It'll get rid of the taste, promise." He said reassuringly. Coaxed by his softly spoken words she tentatively took the small beverage. After a great deal of reluctance she took a small sip of the drink. As soon as the liquor met her taste buds her eyes went wide causing Locke to chuckle. Restrained as she was, a wavering cough did escape. She dutifully handed the bottle of laetius back. Graciously Locke accepted the bottle, "aye that's the stuff that'll put a hair on your chest." He chortled again.

Knocking back the rest of the draught he savoured the last bit of the drink before it was empty, placing it gently on the snowy ground. Sad that it was all gone, he took out the needle. The xeno was still recovering from her first interaction with alcohol when Locke started rubbing the sewing needle up and down his arm. The Eldar's face resumed its emotionless state although her eyes were filled with mixture of fascination and confusion in equal measure.

Noticing her fascinated look, Locke spoke up. "I'm tryin' t' build up static in the needle." He explained. After several minutes of rubbing the sharp barb up and down his arm he guessed that it was ready. He forced the tiny spike into the bung and placed the impaled cork into the pool of water lapping inside the mess tin. The stopper initially sank before it bobbed gently back to the surface; rocking up and down as it floated around the mess tin.

Steadily, as if it was moved by an invisible hand, the cork began to turn as the statically charged needle dragged around in response to the planet's magnetic field. After several minutes of slow rotation, the improvised compass pointer came to rest on a singular point even as the cork continued to drift around the mess tin. Locke gazed off into the distance, through the trees towards a far off mountain range that was barely in view. "Looks like we just got our new heading. That way is north." He explained pointing. The Eldar followed his hand and where he was pointing before giving him a nod of understanding.

"The sun's arc, from where we're standing, is in the northern sky. Assuming that this world has a perpendicular axis to the rotation of the sun then I think we're somewhere in the southern hemisphere." Clarified Locke; beaming with pride that he had managed to remember one of Doric's boring lectures. _I hope the old miser is okay_. "If I'm right we should head north towards that mountain range o'er yonder, more chance o' actually findin' somebody with hopefully less orks about. What'd'ya think?"

The alien only loosely understood his intentions but after some thought she reluctantly nodded at his suggestion before placing her helmet back on. Within quarter of an hour they had broken camp without another word. The Eldar lead the way as was her habit. There was quite the journey ahead of them with a hell of a climb at the end of it but in spite of this Locke was in high spirits. After all, things appeared to be looking up. They had evaded the orks, his shoulder was mended and now they had a clear destination in mind. What could go wrong?

* * *

 **Review Responses:**

 **FaraamKnight – Thank you very much, I will do.**

 **Another S.T.A.L.K.E.R – Always good to hear. Hopefully this chapter will be more to your liking.**

 **AncientofDayz – You sir, are a star. Thank you very much, I was close to ripping my hair out trying to find that picture.**

 **York52 – I think growth through adversity is always the most interesting way to do romance. No, he's my own creation. I try to stay away from named characters as much as I can.**

 **Aaron Black – Probably quite heretical. Not looking forward to writing that scene to be honest but there's a decent way to go until then so I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.**

 **LordSolarMattius – Thank you.**

 **Jim Jimmy – Thank you very much. Hope you enjoy this chapter too.**

 **Soothsayer – Glad you're enjoying it. Unfortunately, there will be quite a few chapters that involve dream sequences due to the nature of the magic Mcguffin.**

 **Look2019 – Happy days.**

 **Shadowfire12 – Thank you.**

 **Guest – Thank you very much and I'm glad you're enjoying it. I really do spend a lot of time on each chapter so it's nice knowing that it's worth it. In fact, I think I've learned a huge amount in terms of writing. I reread the first chapter of this story every now and then. I usually end up comparing it to the latest chapter I've written; more and more I'm shocked at how much I've improved. Think I might have to redo the earlier chapters to bring them in line with the rest.**

 **Guest – I definitely see where you're coming from. However, some of the best stories ever are ones that make us fall in love with the characters to only then kill them off or put them on a downward spiral. I'm still not sure which ending I'll go with, but I'll take your point into consideration.**

 **Guest – Thank you and I understand what you mean. I really enjoyed 'That which is forbidden' however if I'm honest I didn't really think that story was very grimdark either. Now I love dark and gritty media so there is always the possibility that I've become de-sensitised to a lot of it. No not all of Chapter 10 was a dream sequence. If the writing is in the standard format then the scenes are taking place in real time. If the writing is in italics, this can mean a few things: Character's internal thoughts, memories, dream sequences or warp shenanigans. In that instance it was a dream sequence.**

 **Cakes and lies – Thank you again, you're too kind. I know, I wish I had more time to write but unfortunately real-life stuff comes first. I'm hoping to try and get a chapter out per month however I am heading back to university soon so whether I'll be able to stick to this, I'm not sure. I think so as well, thank you very much for your criticism and I've altered the last few chapters because of your input.**


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